City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (26 page)

Abruptly he felt the air move about him. She was standing in the changing room doorway, hair pulled into a braid which decorated one shoulder. The kahr lowered the sword to the bench and invited her in. “This is your uniform, Artemi. You will have some spare items made shortly, but see how these work for you first. I’ll keep them in my rooms since you do not appear to have much in the way of... private storage space. And you are not to wear it anywhere but this hall and in battle.”

She nodded quietly, but remained staring at the clothing.

“Well, are you going to put it on?”

Artemi looked nervously at the changing rooms. They were quite open, he realised, but when there were only men in there that was hardly an issue.

“There’s no one here but me. If anyone else turns up early I’ll kick them out. Will that suffice?” They had a full thirty minutes before the first lot would start pouring in.

“Alright,” she said quietly. She seemed very subdued today.

Morghiad went to stand at the doorway, back turned to her, and folded his arms. He could hear the rustling of fabric behind him in the near distance. It was a cold day today, he thought, bracingly cold. He could just about see the sky at the top of the enormous windows. By the look of the dark grey clouds, there would be a thin layer of snow on the castle roof soon. It had become colder a little earlier than usual this year, which was curious. He felt a hand at his shoulder, and the rest of her walked to his front before he could turn.

“What do you think?” she asked with a smile.

His mind seemed to empty of all conversation. He tried to open his mouth, or move, but could not. She looked exactly as she had in the illustration, with every inch of material clinging to her body flawlessly. Artemi turned on the spot slowly, affording him a look at her back. The breeches were scandalous from the rear. He hoped his men wouldn’t be too distracted by that particular view. She completed her rotation as Morghiad cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “No, wait a minute.” He set about readjusting two of the buckles on her bodice. “These need to be flat against the fabric, or they’ll make excellent hooks for swords.”

She gave him a funny look. Perhaps that had been a little inappropriate. Her sword belt was crossed over in the wrong direction, too. He undid the clasp and re-wound it around her, pulling it tight at her hips.

“As you are right handed, this must be crossed over at your right side. Otherwise you’ll hit the belt every time you try to re-sheathe.”

If a man was to die, then dying with her as his final sight would surely have been the most agreeable of deaths. He was probably staring at her again. He needed to stop doing that, certainly in public. At least he hadn’t fallen in love with her like some overgrown puppy, which would have been the end of his reputation. It was quite acceptable to find her beautiful, however. A dedicated fighter was still allowed to appreciate exquisiteness when it occurred in the world.

Morghiad led her to the front of the hall while he thought on his problem. “Do you know what you are to do today?”

“Swear to follow the orders of my superiors, fight for my country, defend my sword-brothers and generally do everything you tell me to,” she said with an air of affected boredom.

The kahr grunted. “Speak to your superiors like that and you’ll be in line for a punishment. I’ve let you run too free with your mouth, Artemi. Here you must show respect. These men have made quite a concession in accepting you.”

She frowned and dropped her head. “I know, captain.”

Morghiad changed the subject. “While we wait, why don’t we see how you move now you’re more suitably attired?”

They both drew their swords and began a steady duel. Artemi’s moves were smooth and precise, almost always correct responses to his own. She was unexpectedly strong at times, but still too tentative to really commit to beating him. Out of her dress, the woman was much better at evading his most extended lunges. “Work faster!” he instructed. Immediately she responded, which made the fight far more interesting for him.

It was not long before they had drawn a small audience of soldiers, and when Artemi almost shouldered into one of them, he decided to end the engagement. He hoped they were impressed with her ability; she was certainly better than the average new recruit. She could probably give some of the sergeants a run for their money if she really pushed herself, and that was after just a few weeks of training. How long before she bested him? Another month? He pulled her to stand beside him and waited while the rest of the men filtered in. They certainly weren’t holding back from staring at her. Artemi appeared to be studying the floor closely, unsure of where to look. Four new recruits were accompanied to the front by the sergeants who had been training them. They were young men, but all would have picked up the sword aged seven or eight, and some may even have attended a battle or two as runners.

With the room filled, the captain jumped onto the stage and bade silence. He always felt slightly embarrassed at this part of his role. “Today we have five new soldiers who will join in the fight for Calidell. Come.” He motioned for them all to join him, and the five hopped up with the fluid movements of athletes to stand in a line next to him. “Kneel.” Artemi and the four men dropped to their knees, holding their swords out behind them. The grey hall took on a deathly silence. The red-haired woman was closest so he started with her. “Name?”

“Artemi D’Avrohan,” she announced.

He took both her hands in his, feeling the echoes of Blaze wash through his fingers. “Artemi D’Avrohan, you must abide by the rules of this army. Do you accept?”

“Yes.”

“Do you swear to fight on behalf of the people of Calidell?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to recognise all men in this army as your brothers, and swear to defend each of them should they require it?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to obey the orders of your commanding officers, to question only when you have good cause, and never to defy?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to keep all secrets of the army within the army, and not to speak of them, even to your kin?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you understand that breaking any of these oaths will result in punishment, dismissal, imprisonment or even execution?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are a soldier of Calidell. Find your place with Beodrin’s men.” He released her hands and watched as she rose. She kept her eyes firmly fixed to the floor as she stepped down toward the stocky lieutenant. Morghiad could have put her with Silar, but the man had grown far too attached to her already. Jealousy had a tendency to create problems, and having Passerid in the same battalion would not have been beneficial to anyone. With Beodrin as her commanding officer, the other men would be appeased and she would be kept safe at the same time.

The kahr moved onto the next recruit. “Name?”

“Godedrin Murani,” he said hesitantly.

He held the man’s hands between his palms. They felt like clumsy lumps of meat after Artemi’s delicate fingers. “Godedrin Murani, you must abide by the rules of this army. Do you accept?”

The boy looked nervous. “Yes.”

“Do you swear to fight on behalf of the people of Calidell?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to recognise all men in this army as your brothers... and all its women as your sisters, and swear to defend each of them should they require it?” That would have drawn a few smirks.

“I swear it.”

The swearing-in ceremony continued for a few more minutes. He gave Silar the best of the men in the hope of settling his loss of Artemi, and though the blond man was stood some way off, Morghiad could tell that he was scowling. After the last of the men had joined Luna’s company, he called for sword practice to begin. He commenced line inspection, but it wasn’t long before Silar caught him.

“Captain,” he said with some anger in his eyes, “would you speak to me a moment?”

The kahr nodded, leading the way to a quiet corner. “What is it?”

Silar vented as much as he could with his voice low, “Why didn’t you give her to me? You
know
I am the best man here to watch over her!”

“And I’d wager you’d be the most dedicated too. But I cannot have you punching your own men in the face every time one of them looks at her in a manner you do not like.”

“I would not... I...”

Morghiad continued, “And it is not just a matter of her safety. I need to make sure the other men have the reassurance of a kanaala commanding her.”

The blond man blurted, “But Passerid -”

“Passerid’s the last man I’d want giving her orders,” Morghiad finished. He hoped Silar would sort himself out sharpish, otherwise this was going to become a not insignificant problem.

Artemi stood and dusted herself off a second time. These men had clearly decided to throw their worst at her as some sort of test. Why they had to be so underhand about it, she did not know. Her fighting partner would assail as fast as he could, she would meet his strikes and then some blasted soldier nearby would stick a foot out or jab her in the ribs with an elbow. She clenched her jaw but said nothing. All she could do was continue fighting on as if these men were nought but annoying flies. Beodrin had watched for a while, assessing her skill. He complained that Morghiad had pushed her too hard, too fast and that she lacked the balance that
took years to establish.
Well, now her balance was being well and truly tested by men who clearly hated her presence.

Through the crowd of tall, broad shoulders she occasionally made out Morghiad and Silar at the far side of the hall. They appeared to be discussing something rather serious, and kept looking in her direction. Looking at Silar made her feel even more miserable. He had been quite respectful at dinner the previous night, only laughing once when she had picked up the wrong fork for vegetables.

What was the point in having numerous separate forks for one meal? She’d had to navigate through four of the blazed things. It was utterly absurd. At least he hadn’t come into his washroom to spy on her changing into that dress, which was something. It was the finest dress she had ever seen, but he did not seem to realise the awkward contract it had established between them. Now she’d have to consider his
feelings
every time she spoke to another man or accepted gifts. And she was beholden to him with it, since it could only ever be worn in his sight. Bloody men!

She took a powerful swipe at her opponent. Fine, she thought to herself, if they wanted a challenge then that is what they would get. She sped up her attacks, spinning and thrusting and parrying as hard as she could. Within seconds the other man was lying on the floor, swordless. She had to admit she felt a surge of satisfaction at seeing him there, but offered a hand to help him up. He looked at it warily, but she did not move it. At last he took the hand, seeming surprised that she was not pulled over by his weight, and went to reclaim his weapon.

“Time for you to fight someone a little more difficult?” whispered one of the other soldiers. When she turned to him, she noted that three green strips marked his chest and shoulders. “I’m Orwin. Good to meet you, Artemi. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He smiled warmly, quite prettily, in truth. Not so much as Silar or Morghiad, when he was in one of his better moods, but there was something pleasing about this man’s curved mouth and hazel eyes.

“Well met, sergeant.” She smiled back.

They sparred for some time with Artemi typically ending up on the defensive. She managed to touch him with the blade a few times, but not enough to throw him from his stride. By the end of the session she had thrown off the short-coat and had worked up quite a sweat. Every part of her body felt as if it were dripping water onto the floor. Orwin gave her a cheeky wink as he departed, and she was glad to have made a single friend. She
longed
to bathe.

Morghiad dismissed the assembled men, looking somewhat well-worn himself. Of course she could not leave the hall dressed as she was, and she could not get undressed until the changing rooms emptied. And so she went to sit, still dripping, on one of the wooden tables. Silar walked over to her, muttered a brief, “Are you alright?” and then left when she nodded. Artemi thought she must have smelled quite pungent. But she was not the only one watching Silar, as she observed the captain’s eyes followed the lieutenant as he exited the huge doors at the end of the hall.

“Beodrin tells me you did well today,” Morghiad said.

“I didn’t get my new uniform cut to pieces, at least.” She thought she detected the beginnings of a smile on his face, but could have imagined it.

“Do you think you will be happy with us?” His emerald-like eyes burned into her with the question, which was a very odd one. She was a weapon; what did he care for a weapon’s happiness? Then she realised, he wanted to make sure she would not turn and kill them all.

“It is early in my career yet, captain. But I have met some excellent and kind soldiers among you.”

“Good.” His eyes darted back towards the huge doors.