City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (40 page)

The kahr folded his arms. “You know she had family in the south?”

He hadn’t known that. Foolish of him really “Of course, I knew that! Do you think me an idiot?”

“No, father. I -”

“Well, go and take your bloody blunt-edged and blunt-witted army down to the south then. And make sure you kill a few people while you’re at it, maybe some Kemenis too. There’s no point in any of this prisoner business I’ve been hearing about. Oh, and don’t try to save too many of your own soldiers. You need enough to win, but if you don’t lose a few-hundred then this country will be overflowing with people before you can call upon Achellon for a tornado to exterminate the excess. Everything is so very finely balanced.” And so easily disrupted. A rich country could not stay rich if the money had to be shared between more hands.

A small smile worked across Morghiad’s face; the nature of it was very curious. “Perhaps you should invite the wielders back to do your pruning for you?”

“Hah!” Dangerous witches. One never knew if such a woman might end up in one’s bed... and then... Acher took a deep breath. He was safe. His country was safe from that. “Better for us to keep the country’s whores free for whoring, don’t you think?”

“I would not deny my countrymen their opportunities for enjoyment.”

The king rose from his chair and strode around the front of his glittering, night-stone desk. “Is that so? I hear your army does not partake of so much
enjoyment
these days.”

The kahr went to stand at the tall, cloud-filled window. “They enjoy serving their country.”

“They are at risk of taking themselves too seriously. Calidell’s army serves this country by killing and being killed. And if they want to enjoy the parts in between then that is to be encouraged. You know that very well, lad.” Acher sat back against the surface of his desk. This idiot child was probably too stupid to learn as quickly as was required.

The boy sighed. “If they are not sleeping with so many women then it will take longer for them to find someone to breed with.”

“It’s not the army breeding we need to worry about,” the king muttered, “Bloody commoners, farmers and village idiots!” The ones who donated little of worth to the country through the creation of their idle offspring, believing it to be a right bestowed upon them by Achellon. How he despised them and their hungry, needy little families!

“We need someone to work the fields, father.”

Acher harrumphed. There were more than enough people to do that, just too many to be fed from those fields! “Take your bloody celibate men south and find that bitch of mine.” Three years of his companionship wasted on her and Morghiad had greater concerns for his precious men. At least now that the kahr had that little red-haired girl, Acher didn’t have to make excuses for his son’s sexuality. That had been an embarrassing matter to deal with daily amongst the visiting royal snakes. The
lad
was an embarrassment! Blazes, how he needed to father another son!

The blue streams of fire fanned through his consciousness like a fine network of glowing tree roots, pulsing and heaving with their energy. He felt along the largest of them for the thousandth time, sensing its awful power. It had finally matured that summer; finally ceased its improbably rapid growth from a tiny trickle of energy. Passerid snapped open his brown eyes and padded around the room again. It was simply furnished with only the most basic things a soldier would need: a small bed, a writing desk and a wardrobe for his uniform. The grey walls had been decorated with the sigil-marked flags of his House, Collibry, and the small brown bird on them reminded him of himself: unremarkable, unheard but always watching. He sat at his desk, withdrew a sheet of paper and began writing. It was a sickening punishment that never seemed to end. He checked the register of names to be sure that he would spell the next one correctly.

Dear Madam and Sir Retsinnal,

It is with great regret that I write to you about the death of your daughter, Miss Enodia. It was I who ended her life and I hope it will reassure you to know that I suffer daily with –

Just how many wielders had he dispatched during his time in Calidell? The register was large, spanning several volumes, and he had only made it part of the way through in a year. Some of the names he vaguely recalled, others he had absolutely no idea to whom they belonged. All babies looked the same when you took them from their parents, anyway. He could hardly be expected to distinguish one wielder child from another across the centuries. Some of the families had since moved away, often to another country, but Morghiad had insisted that he make efforts to locate them for his apologies. It was a punishment he suffered for, alright! And it was ridiculous. How could a letter of apology from their child’s executor ever come close to lessening the parents’ grief? He’d already received several letters of abuse from them in return for his atonements and admissions. Passerid slammed down the brass canal pen and kicked his chair to the floor in annoyance. He’d be lucky if one of them didn’t hunt him down to kill him.

Breathing deeply, his mind returned to the Blaze streams that his abilities permitted him to see. That great stream - it matched Artemi’s age perfectly, but it must have been a grade thirteen or fourteen. How could she be the lover of a kanaala only graded twelve? Not that twelve was insignificant; as an ordinarily respectable six, Passerid couldn’t even see to the end of Artemi’s fires when he touched her. He searched again for a more likely candidate, but only succeeded in finding a twelve whom he knew had been around for centuries and an eleven in her seventies. Could it be that their relationship was some sort of elaborate masquerade? And to what end? Artemi never seemed to leave the kahr’s rooms these days, or was always seen hanging from his arm like an obedient pet if she wasn’t at practice. It had surprised no one that Morghiad had given in to her charms so rapidly, but what had been the cost? Perhaps their kahr was already an eisiel, and she was manipulating him like a Blaze-burned puppet. The girl could have all sorts of mind control techniques learned during her previous lives, or ways to make other people believe Morghiad wasn’t the walking dead.

Passerid sat on the bed and rubbed at his temples vigorously. Artemi seemed like a sweet girl, and she had fulfilled her oaths to the army so far. The legends spoke well enough of her honour and her victories, so he trusted her to keep him alive if they fought together on the battlefield. But she was a wielder nonetheless. They were still dangerous things with dangerous abilities, governed by their irrational female emotions. The brown-haired kanaala looked back at his task on the desk. No, Morghiad was just as difficult as he had always been. And what could Passerid do to save the Ward of Calidell’s army from another Ward, anyway? Nothing. He just had to trust Artemi not to do something catastrophic to their captain at so critical a time.

Chapter 13

Soft flakes of snow drifted down to the carpet of white that enveloped the black Mountains of Kemen. Artemi turned her face to the low grey clouds to catch a few more of the flakes on her hot cheeks. They landed there like visiting butterflies and then melted away quickly. A chuckle to her left stole her attention from the flurry. Her kahr was looking at her in amusement. “One would think you had never seen snow before.”

Winter had arrived quickly, and it seemed all the more vigorous up in the mountains. She pulled her fur cloak tightly around her and nudged Glacier on. “I am simply taking my time to enjoy the surroundings, my captain.” The horses were making slow progress through the Orsenid Pass, so there was little else to do but appreciate the scenery. At least, this time round, the scenery included Kahr-Captain Morghiad of House Sete’an instead of a group of wagon drivers. She reined in closer to him and took a glance at the army behind them. Thousands of men, all huddled against the cold; and behind them rode their families. These were truly dedicated people. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the weight of her lover’s responsibilities, but she knew she could never truly understand it.

“They will get through it, Artemi. They’re tougher than you’d think,” he said, detecting her concern. “We’ll reach camp in another hour or so.”

She nodded. She was looking forward to slipping back into her uniform; it would be so much warmer than the benay-gosa assemblage she had on. Even with the thick fur collar on the cloak she felt exposed, and she longed to jump horses and wrap herself up in his sword-honed arms. But it probably would not be appropriate in front of all these men.

She thought back to some of the things she had done with Morghiad: things that would make the most experienced benay-gosa blush. He was insatiable at times, but then so was she. And given that the two of them were ultimately unable to satiate their desires, there had been some very, very narrow escapes recently. At times the kahr would get angry at himself for it and lament that he risked her life by being her lover. This was ridiculous when it was she who was the true threat. She desperately did not want to be separated from him though. And Artemi certainly did not want him on the battlefield without her at his side. The two of them were equally matched in sword-handling now; with her lightweight speed compensating for his superior strength. At their last duel they had put on something of an exhibition for the practice hall. Except, unable to best each other, it had lasted for a day-and-a-half. Most of the men had left by the time they decided to call a draw, but the few who’d remained had worked hard to get them both utterly drunk afterwards. And that had led to some... amusing bedroom antics.

Artemi looked at the men behind again. She and the kahr were far enough ahead to have some privacy in their conversation. “Morghiad? I wanted to talk to you about something.”

His green eyes flashed at her. “What troubles you?”

“It is difficult for me to... You know that I love you with every essence of my being...”

He smiled warmly at her.

She continued, “...and your happiness means the world to me.”

“I am beyond happy to have you, Artemi.”

“But you have not
had
me, my kahr. What if one day you want to experience what it is like to... do that? Or perhaps you will want to be a father. I cannot offer those things to you. And so... I must offer you my blessing.”

Morghiad looked confused. “Blessing for what?”

“If you want to take another lover; someone who can give you those things.” Artemi felt a chill rise up her spine. She’d hated saying that.

Morghiad looked almost angry. “Silly girl. You think I have space in my heart for anyone else? Do you think any other woman could rouse my desire after you? Honestly, Artemi. Sometimes your humility is endearing and other times it just makes you blurt out idiotic things.”

She felt as if she had failed him. What sort of excuse for a woman was she?

He rode closer to put an arm across her shoulders. “You are everything to me, and those other things do not matter if I can wake each morning to see your face.”

Artemi nodded slowly. It wasn’t good enough for him;
she
was not good enough. But she was glad he had said it. She did not want some other woman stealing those mornings from her.

They reached the camp at the top of the pass and the men made haste about their preparations. Morghiad went off to organise various people and bark a few orders, which Artemi suspected he secretly quite enjoyed doing. She trudged along with the two horses to a growing corral and led them inside.

“Let me take the saddles off, my queen,” a young soldier said.

She placed her hands on her hips. “I am
not
a queen!” Why did they have to keep calling her that? Well, she would keep denying it until they learned.

The soldier had the front to smile at her. “Er...yes, my er- lady.”

And she wasn’t anyone’s lady, either. But that would have to do. She tramped off into the snow, carrying the saddle bags. At least no one had tried to take those off her. Something caught her attention to the left. A broad-shouldered sergeant with dark red hair ran towards her: her father. He had insisted on signing up to the army as soon as he had heard of her relationship with the kahr, presumably to keep a close eye on the younger man’s behaviour. Her father’s attitude to Morghiad still remained frosty at best; she only wished that they could get along better. Weirdly, he seemed to like his lieutenant, Silar, an awful lot. Artemi wondered if he’d like Lord Forllan so much if he knew how many bed fellows the nobleman had worked through the year before.