City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (42 page)

“What is it?” Silar clutched his sword hilt and looked around the camp. All seemed calm enough.

Passerid’s eyes shrank back to their normal size, but his face went pink. “Ah... you don’t want to know.” He pulled out his other sword and used it to fish out the now very hot one from the fire. Then he huddled uncomfortably in his cloak.

Silar relaxed again. Must have been some sort of kanaala thing. They could be a jumpy lot sometimes. He went back to chewing the tough rabbit meat and thought deeply about the rogue army. There had been no reports that they had a wielder, but one could never be sure. If there were eisiels in it, then a wielder might be behind its creation. That was a nasty thought. With any luck, Artemi would be strong enough to blast them all into oblivion. His thoughts were interrupted again by running feet. What was it now?

Beodrin and Jarynd came hurtling into the group. “Did you
feel
that?” Jarynd demanded of Passerid. He grunted in the affirmative. Jarynd blew for a moment. “Well don’t you think we should find out what’s bloody well going on?”

Passerid grimaced. “Definitely not. It’s their business and I have no wish to see it.”

Silar frowned, and then realisation began to dawn on him.

Jarynd was practically hopping up and down. “Every kanaala and wielder within a thousand miles of this place will have felt that!”

Silar caught his arm. “Er... Jar, I think what he’s trying to say is...” he cleared his throat. “You should leave them to it.”

“And what would you know? Their tent is almost on...” His voice trailed off as the coin chimed. The wiry man’s face coloured. He hunkered down next to Passerid and assumed the same uncomfortable scowl. Beodrin raised his eyebrows at his friends’ behaviour. “I’ll go and see that the other kanaala... understand what’s going on.” He turned to go back to his section of the camp.

“He could have set up a partition first,” Jarynd muttered quietly.

Garadin looked around at the men with his ancient, knowing eyes and a grin. He had seen more battles even than Jarynd, and probably more lovers, too. It was strange that he had fought in King Acher’s name for years and had been part of some of the greatest victories; yet his loyalty had been so completely and smoothly assumed by Acher’s son. Silar did not believe that the world had simply tired of King Acher; rather that Morghiad’s desire to do the right thing had revealed all the faults in his father. Acher of House Sete’an was not a good king. Many of the men had awoken to this fact in recent months. But Morghiad would never allow them to depose his father, and Silar increasingly worried that his men might find ways of getting someone to do it for him. The lieutenant cast his mind to Morghiad and Artemi. He did not particularly want the image of them together in his mind, but he hoped the man was treating her like the queen she was. If she didn’t emerge tomorrow with a great big grin on her face, there would be trouble for the young captain.

The first sensation Artemi felt was cold: biting, freezing, unemotional cold. The second sensation, oddly, was warmth. She snapped her eyes open, and blinked in the harsh light. It took a few seconds before she could see anything, but slowly shapes came into view. She recognised a pillow on the floor of the tent, and then a discarded blanket in the corner. Items lay strewn around as if a wild tempest had blown through their accommodation. Artemi closed her eyes as she thought about what lay beneath her. She couldn’t bring herself to look, and yet she could not stop her eyes from opening and focusing on him anyway. He lay there motionless, eyes closed; his beautiful face was devoid of expression. His body was still warm beneath her. What had she done? She fought back the tears and shook him. “Morghiad?” She whispered at first. “Wake up! Morghiad!” He did not stir. Then her tears came in force. “Morghiad! Please! Wake up you blazed son of a whore!” He remained lifeless. Light of Achellon, what had she done? Artemi reached out to him through the fiery connection of their skin. That she could feel it all could mean that he was still alive, that there was hope. She delved into his consciousness, and found... nothing. Emptiness. Artemi wept quietly in anguish. She stroked his thick, black hair and kissed his lips. Nothing could have made her relinquish his body at that moment.

She laid her head on his chest and felt the anger build up inside her: anger at herself, and anger at him for loving her. Artemi reached for The Blazes again. She was so close to being able to wield the fires for herself... so close. Her anger helped her surge towards it; it was working. Soon she could wrap herself in the fires and burn this whole place to nothing. Her grief would be consumed by the awesome power of it and she would be razed to nothing but ash. Artemi would never have to feel again. She reached again: almost there. The wielder extended her mind for one last push, but then she faltered. Out of place emotions began to erode at her anger. She battled them, but they were impervious to her strikes. She felt... contentment and desire and... love: a deep torrent of love! It didn’t make any sense. Her anger turned to confusion and she was left helpless as The Blazes spun away from her. It made no sense. A hand came to rest on her hair. She raised her head with what little strength remained in her. From beneath her, Morghiad studied her with his brilliant, grass-green eyes. Artemi ran her fingers over his face, checking that it responded to her touch. And it did so with smiles. “Artemi,” he chided.

“You’re alive.”

He grinned. “So I am.” He didn’t sound that surprised, though he should have been.

She realised with a start that those had been his emotions in her head. Artemi was experiencing everything he felt. He reached to pull a fur blanket over the top of them and she could sense the softness of it between his fingers. She even knew the weight of the blanket as he had experienced it; though it presented itself as a stream in her mind.

“You should have told me you were cold,” he said.

Artemi knew it was normal to share sensations during love making but this was something altogether different. And, though still tightly intertwined, they weren’t currently making love... “Morghiad?”

“Hmm?” Warmth drifted through his emotions.

“Can you feel -”

“Everything you do, yes.” He squeezed her to check. The sensation echoed between them.

Whatever had resulted from the previous night had linked them inextricably. Morghiad seemed to accept it as if it had been completely normal, as if it was to be expected. He sensed her confusion, and answered it before she put it into words.

“I don’t exactly know what you did, Artemi. But just as I thought I was going to be burned away to dust you... tied me to you somehow.” He smiled at her and twisted a strand of her hair round his fingers. She felt it buzzing against his touch. He continued, “I always knew I could trust you with my life.”

Artemi felt a burst of desire to sleep with him again, though she wasn’t sure quite from whom it had originated. “We have work to do and it is already late,” he warned her. Artemi smiled at the curiousness of their situation, and at her relief that everything would be well. It took some effort to relinquish her grip on him; she would have been more than happy to lie there all day. But eventually they parted to locate some clothing. Even with their bodies isolated she could feel all of his emotions and all of his corporeal sensations coursing like a river, they interweaved with her own. She wondered how long it would be before she couldn’t tell whose sensation belonged to whom. Well, this was wonderful for kissing and lying together and eating good food, but what about the less pleasant business? Evidently Morghiad had just had the same thought. He looked at her with some embarrassment.

“I suppose it’s just something we have to get used to. Perhaps there is a way of...  blocking it?” she said.

He had a particular talent for working out how to do new things with The Blazes, so perhaps he could find a way to section off their minds when required. The kahr responded with deep thought on his face and in his mind. He looked up. “Try focusing on the centre of your being, just you alone.”

She did so, not really quite knowing what he meant. Suddenly, all of his emotions faded from a river to the tiniest trickle of water. It worked, after a fashion. She didn’t like the sensation, and brought the comfort of them back. “Well I suppose that’ll do,” she smiled at him.

A realisation dawned on her. “Oh, no. Oh blazes, no!” She closed her eyes.

Worry emanated from him. “What’s wrong?”

She kept to a hushed whisper. “Last night. The entire camp will have heard us!”

Morghiad laughed warmly. “It’s alright. That is what sound walls are for.”

Artemi walked over to him to touch his skin, and assessed the walls of the tent. They glittered with the pulse and forms of several barriers. None of them was a partition, however.

“I didn’t have enough time to do that one,” the captain grinned. He leant down to kiss her on the neck and helped her buckle up the green-striped bodice of her uniform.

Artemi scraped her hair into an almost presentable braid and stepped out of the tent. A large number of eyes turned to look at her. She could feel her cheeks reddening slowly. Had that sound wall actually worked? She sensed Morghiad stepping out behind her and feeling similarly self-conscious. Some of the men went back to whatever tasks they had in hand.

Silar strode out of the crowd and studied them intently. “Hah. What time do you call this? We have to pack up in a minute.” He handed Morghiad some papers, gave Artemi a final head-to-toe appraisal and stalked off again.

Beodrin walked up to them looking somewhat weary. “Good morning, both of you. I believe it is still morning.” He looked up at the sky. “Now, all the men are set to go as you requested, captain. We managed to organise that much in your absence. Once the last of the tents are packed up we’ll be off.”

“Thank you, Beodrin,” the captain said.

The lieutenant continued. “And Artemi, I’ll be needing you to fall in. If you would come with me, my queen?”

Her initial excitement was quelled by her annoyance at the title, and then further confused by Morghiad’s surprise at her reaction. “Yes, Lieutenant Beodrin,” she answered. Momentarily she clasped Morghiad’s hand, turned and then left to fall in behind Beodrin. She could feel her captain growing more distant behind her and she could sense that he was watching her, or rather, leering at her. She turned her head to examine his expression. It
looked
like an innocent stare, but those were definitely leering thoughts.

Morghiad watched the beautiful woman blend into the melee of his army. He still didn’t feel as if he owned her, nor that he ever could; but sleeping with her had brought him a level of peace and contentment he could not fathom. He felt... stronger with his new connection to her and, better still, with her flame burning in his mind he would always know if she was safe. The pressing matter of his duties broke his thoughts. He returned to the inside of the tent to pack up some items and collect the necessary maps. When he left he ordered a small group of soldiers to dismantle it. He would have done it himself, only his late rising had put him behind in his duties. The young kahr set about drawing together a small team of scouts. These were the best runners and trackers in the Calidellian army, capable of stalking their prey for miles in rough terrain. He set them riding for the end of the pass. With any luck they’d soon find traces of the rogue army, and report back important information. Morghiad wasn’t far behind them now.

He hurried to the horse enclosure to fetch Tyshar, barking a few orders along the way. Most of his men knew what they were doing but it couldn’t hurt to chivvy them along a bit. Tyshar was in a corner on his own, as usual, probably having kicked at the other horses. Perhaps he needed to find himself a nice mare, the kahr chortled to himself. He tacked up the horse and vaulted onto his back, before trotting him out of the churned snow paddock. A dark-haired woman came running over to him. It was Lady Aval di Certa. What was
she
doing here?