City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (30 page)

Artemi looked to man who held her power. Two sword hilts jutted above his shoulders and innumerable other blades were strapped at his waist, thighs and calves. He was only lightly armoured with the filigree shoulder and breast plates, which were embossed with black and green vine-like patterns. He appeared to be drawing in half as much as either of them could hold, and the light in his eyes intensified considerably. Each time the fires coursed through her veins, Artemi still felt as if she might melt into the ground; kahr, swords, horses and all. There was also the matter of the curious attraction she experienced when wielding with him. Other than the pleasure Blaze Energy gave her, there was really no reason why she should find herself appreciating him in...
that
way. The other women’s interest in him baffled her completely, and they did not have a wielding excuse. How could they care for a stone of a man whose personality was unknown to them and unnerving to her?

Her captain began to work the Energy into a broad, flat sheet of pure power. It pulsed at a steady rate, seeming to glitter from a hidden light source. The sheet grew outwards over the heads of the soldiers and upwards, into the sky. A rain of fire headed their way, but she could sense that the kanaala were doing
something
that she could not see directly. The fire rain dissolved to nothing above their heads as Morghiad twisted the shield energy round the edges of the two divisions, added several layers of complexity and then released her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give them a taste of their own medicine?” Artemi breathed, confident that she could blast the lot of them to ash.

The kahr did not look at her. “You must save your energy... and mine. Now get back to the wagons. I’ll find you after the battle is finished.” He kicked Tyshar off to a gallop, and tore down the slope to the front of his men. Artemi longed to join them. It was ridiculous that she had been held back here, and already her heart ached with concern for her friends’ lives. “Blazes protect you all,” she whispered, and turned to the supply carts.

The battle raged into the night, wielder fire lighting up the dark sky in waves and plumes of smoke filling the air. Artemi could hear the battle cries from where she was, and often the sound of steel swords singing against more steel. There had been many casualties brought to her and the medics. They cleaned the poison from the soldiers’ wounds as best they could, but sometimes there was too much, and several of the men took on the grey skin of
pinhatar
- the poison death. One man died as she spoke to him, his yellow eyes wide and clouded. She hoped the Hirrahans were suffering far worse than these men, good men, were. Artemi looked up from her latest patient. Aglos, the head medic soldier, was muttering something to her about getting more water. “I’ll go and get some from the brook at the bottom of the hill,” she said.

He glowered. “Fine. But don’t get too close to the action. Though I imagine most of it will be done by now.”

She grabbed a bucket and ran from the tent. Glacier was tethered up to a nearby tree, probably asleep, but was rapidly untied. Artemi vaulted onto the mare’s back, which had the immediate effect of waking the horse up. Glacier raised her snout, snorted once and galloped into the darkness toward the brook, toward the battle.

The horse was lightning fast, and within a matter of seconds they had reached the sound of running water. Artemi slipped out of the saddle with the bucket and picked her way carefully over the rocky ground. When her toes hit water she knelt to scoop some up, but a fizzing in the air around her drew her attention away. There was a large group of men fighting several-hundred yards ahead, though how those Hirrahans had made it this close was a mystery. The fizzing intensified.

Then she understood.

It was Blaze Energy, being used to scout for targets beyond the wielder’s natural sensing range. With horror, she realised that there were no kanaala in the group, or even nearby. In a matter of moments the lot of them would be burned to grey silt! She dropped the bucket and leapt into Glacier’s saddle, pulling her sword from her back. Artemi heeled the mare over the brook and up the opposite slope.

Once she was within shouting distance she started yelling as loud as she could, “MOVE! WIELDER STRIKE!” None of the men looked around. They were too caught-up in their fighting to notice her. She jumped off the horse and ran the rest of the way. Perhaps an extra blade could tip the balance for them. Artemi headed for a tall, Hirrahan warrior with his back to her. Too busy thrashing one of her brothers, he hadn’t heard her coming. She dove forward and swept her sword across his neck with all her might. His head fell to the ground with a strange torpidity, and she was left with a strong desire to vomit.

The Calidellian man beyond offered her a weary nod of thanks. Almost as soon as she had, however, a Hirrahan soldier to her left bore down on her, and she parried with a quick up-slash. She jabbed her sword into his side as he fell back, while her compatriot finished him off. Artemi placed her foot against the body to remove her blade, but felt something hit her other leg. Sword reclaimed, she looked down and saw a pinh-coated short sword sticking out of her right thigh. Its sweaty owner grinned at her menacingly. “Little girls shouldn’t fight.”

The air fizzed intensely against her skin. They had to get out of there, they had to run! Artemi swung the sword round as fast as she could. It caught the grizzled man by surprise and knocked him to the ground. The Calidellian man she had aided was too exhausted and bloody to help her further. Without hesitation, she beheaded their foe herself.

Her kills had tipped the balance, and the last of the Hirrahans fell to the earth. “We have to move, now! There will be a storm of fire right here in a matter of seconds!”

The men in green and black lost no time in departing the scene. She made to run with them, but instead fell to the ground as her right leg collapsed. Artemi rolled onto her back and pulled at the short sword. It would not budge. She took a deep breath and heaved on it as much as she dared. Slowly, and with searing pain, it came free. Black liquid oozed from the wound; the limb did not look useful at all. Blazes!

A pair of arms grabbed hold of her and lifted her into the air. The man she had helped threw her onto his shoulder and ran to her now skittish horse. He had come back! He flung Artemi across the saddle, leapt onto Glacier’s back and kicked the mare into a gallop. A vast fireball exploded into the earth behind them, launching burning shards of rock across their bodies. They galloped back toward the medics’ tent in justified alarm, though Artemi had to writhe and yell for the soldier to stop and pick up water on the way. At least she could complete one of her duties, though her leg was beginning to hurt rather more than she wanted to admit.

Morghiad drew the second of his swords, dismounted and cut his way through to the wielder ahead of him. The moon illuminated her thin face clearly. He pulled another red-coated soldier down to the ground and cut his head from its neck. It had been a bloody battle, far bloodier than he had expected. They had to yield soon. He reached forward and took hold of the brunette’s neck. Her eyes grew wide as soon as she sensed what he was, and that he surpassed her considerably in ability. The woman was tired, but he drew every reserve she had left into himself. She fought back only feebly.

His experience with Artemi had taught him much about controlling the more headstrong wielders, and it was not long before he felt something snap  - the tie that linked her to the Blazes. The woman would never wield again. If he delved further he could have killed her, but she was harmless now. He released her neck and she fell to the ground in a heap. Morghiad left her there and clambered back on Tyshar.

The end of the battle came soon enough, since the loss of the brown-haired wielder had been enough to finally dishearten the Hirrahans. A trumpet sounded, and all the men in red laid down their swords. Some were crying. It had been horrific, certainly the bitterest fight he had experienced yet, and he feared hearing the number of losses his army had sustained. He sheathed both swords and cantered into the centre of the enemy camp. Beetan fell in behind him. The orange-haired man was revelling in the glory of his kills. Out of the corner of one eye, Morghiad caught him picking up a brown piece of fabric. “All your baize are belong to us!” Beetan laughed to himself. Whatever did that even mean? The kahr heeled Tyshar on and soon reached the Hirrahan leader’s tent.

A blonde woman in a silk gown stood at the torch-lit entrance. A small gold crown sat atop her head. Morghiad had thought the Hirrahans brave, but he had not expected them to send their queen to take a province. She was quite pretty, though she had nothing on Artemi’s beauty. He dismounted and made a bow to his defeated enemy. She eyed him longer than would usually be acceptable, and then gave a curtsey before ushering he and Beetan into her tent.

“Your men fought well today, my lady.”

She assessed him from top to bottom. “Men fight hard if they have a queen to protect. Tell me, Lord-Captain Morghiad, are you married yet?”

Was this really to be their topic of discussion? “No, I fear I am wed to the sword and my army. But I believe we should press on with business.”

“Why, it can be business if you wish. How would you like one of my daughters to... ameliorate the disruption that has gone on today?” She smiled sweetly.

Morghiad felt anger well up inside him. He very nearly exploded with it. Instead he seethed. “Do you think, lady, that the offer of your daughter will make amends for the lives of the men lost today? If you do then you underestimate me most gravely.” He heard Beetan growl behind him.

“Then tell me what you desire, Lord-Captain Sete’an, and I shall endeavour to meet your requests.” She sat on a cushioned chair and pulled out a parchment.

“You are in no position to accept or deny
requests
. You must be gone from here by midday tomorrow. You will release any of my men you hold captive. I will have four battalions accompany you to the border. You are not to stop for supplies and you must not return here again. In addition, if you wish for peace in your own country then I suggest you cease all border raids. And you must lift your blockades and embargoes. Those are my terms.” He turned and walked out. There had probably never been such a short post-battle reconciliation, but Morghiad had to leave before he tore her head from her shoulders.

He mounted Tyshar and rode him back down the hill. There were a few bodies in green and black lying upon the ground. Thankfully, far more wore red.

At the bottom of the hill, Jarynd trotted into his path. His narrow face conveyed concern. “Lord-Captain,” he breathed, “Artemi. She’s been injured.”

Morghiad felt his fatigue then. He could not afford to lose her for this! He kicked Tyshar hard and galloped the animal at full speed to the medical bay.

Aglos dabbed tentatively at her thigh.

“Blazes, man! Get in there and clean it properly! I thought you were the most experienced at this.” Artemi clenched her teeth against the pain she was anticipating. But it did not come. Aglos hesitated over her leg, looking nervous. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” She grabbed the cloth, soaked it in water and doused the wound. Artemi then took the longest sarkha within reach and jammed it deeply into her thigh. It sent lightning bolts of pain shooting up her body, but it was more bearable than she had expected. Holding the base of the sarkha with one hand, she pressed down on the tube at the top. She could feel water filling the injury from the bottom, and after a moment it started pouring out the top, coloured black. Artemi pressed down harder to ensure she got it as clean as she could. Satisfied with her work, she pulled out the sarkha and threw it to one side. She would have sighed with relief, but Morghiad entered the bay in a cloud of gloom.

Muddied, wet and bloody; his coat had been slashed in several places across the arms, revealing shallow cuts to his skin. The kahr’s green eyes still glittered brightly but his face was dark. He looked... ireful. And Artemi had no doubt as to whom he was angry with. She swallowed in anticipation of the tirade she was about to endure.