City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (8 page)

Few men attended the bar in their uniform, but Silar guessed that half were from the Calidellian army. The other half was made up of noblemen and women, merchants, travellers and people of the city. His eyes scanned the throng for faces he recognised. Beetan and Beodrin were there, of course. They rarely missed an opportunity for drinking. Rahake and Tortrix were the only other lieutenants that Silar could make out.

He recognised a few of the soldiers in and around them, conversing excitedly. No doubt they were talking about the events in the practice hall earlier. He pushed gently through the crowd until he reached Rahake, who was ordering in the ales for his companions.

“One for you, Forllan?” The dark man asked.

“Aye, if you will.”

“Pint of your best for the young lad, here.” Rahake placed two bronze coins onto the bar. The barmaid swept them away with practised ease and hurried to the barrels. Rahake’s appraisal of Silar looked unusually inquisitive, his dark, curious eyes perfectly matching his ebony skin. He was not much shorter than Silar and his shoulders were a little narrower, while his head was topped with slicked-back, short black hair. Silar always felt like an ignorant child around the man. No one really knew how old he was, but it was claimed that he had seen over three-hundred battles whilst in service.

Rahake spoke. “So, your friend made quite a bold move today.”

Silar adjusted his sword belt and put an elbow on the bar. “Yes. It was certainly bold. Don’t ask me about the ins and outs of it. I wasn’t given any warning. What do you think about his changes?”

The shorter lieutenant looked down at the collection of drinks before him and frowned. “I think he has done a wonderful thing for us. I have fought enough futile battles to know that kings don’t always choose the right enemy. As for his ideas on discipline, I am glad I do not have practice or duty tomorrow.” He gave Silar a sly wink and took a drag on his ale.

The barmaid plopped a full tankard in front of Silar so roughly that some of the head spilled onto the bar. He muttered thanks and took up the drink. It felt very good indeed as it coursed down his throat.

“Looks like you needed that, my lord.” Rahake nudged him playfully.

“Like you won’t believe.” Silar took another gulp. “You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with women. They offer you so much, tease you with their beauty and then beat you into the floor until you wish you were a squirrel.”

“A squirrel?” Rahake raised his eyebrows. “Makes sense, I suppose, if you like trees. Yes, women have never appealed to me all that much. Some are nice to look at, I‘ll grant you. But I’d prefer a good set of broad shoulders any day.” He gave Silar another wink.

Silar found it quite odd to be admired by a man, but he also found it flattering after a fashion. Rahake had always been openly interested in men. He especially seemed to like the fair-haired ones. Silar rolled his eyes and then motioned towards the other lieutenants. They picked up their drinks and joined the group.

“Aaah, more beer! That’s what I like to see.” Beodrin clutched at his tankard with glee.

Tortrix took his with a little more reverence; it was his battalion’s turn to guard the day after tomorrow, and now all sorts of good behaviour were expected from him. Tortrix was a quiet man and a brilliant fighter, lightning fast. He was perhaps half a foot shorter than Silar but his sheer presence made him appear taller to everyone, especially the new recruits.

Beetan took his ale in turn. The orange-haired man made a face, “Pfft! This head is far too big! You may be old and wise but you’ve been cheated again, Rahake.”

Rahake chuckled into his pint.

“Last drink before the big sober-up, lads,” Beodrin said solemnly.

“To the great, big sobering-up of Cadra’s army!” Rahake held up his tankard.

“I’ll drink to that!” Beodrin laughed and joined him. Beetan, Tortrix and Silar raised their mugs as well, making a satisfying chink as they hit each other.

Silar downed the remains of his pint. He needed another. The rest of the men would want a top-up, too, so he scrabbled around in the bottom of his pockets and made his way back to the bar. The crowd seemed to have thickened in the few minutes since he had last passed through, which forced him to elbow the obstructing bodies from his path. As they cleared, a dark and solitary figure became apparent.
Morghiad
. He was standing at the bar, nursing a mug of wine and listening with some considerable disinterest to the proprietor.

Baydie was thumping his fist and laughing loudly. Clearly he had not heard about Morghiad’s plan and its inevitable impact on beer sales.

“...And then she fell on her arse!” Baydie finished.

Morghiad retained his usual expression. That stone face of his was simply unnecessary at times.

Baydie looked up at the blond man approaching. “Ah, Silar. Good to see you! One of these days my stories will bring a smile out in our kahr’s face. One bloody day.”

“Keep trying.” Silar grinned.

“Wine? I’ve got some filthy stuff from Hirrah. Top notch.” Baydie wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

“How could I refuse? A mug of your finest for me and four pints of ale for the others.” Silar leaned on the bar opposite Morghiad and gave him a long, hard stare before speaking. “How are you feeling after your big speech?”

Morghiad held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down at his wine.”I didn’t forewarn you. I’m sorry.”

Silar grunted, “How long had you been cooking this up for?”

“Not long. A couple of days.” A band started up some lively music at the opposite end of the bar.

Silar almost knocked over the drinks that Baydie was stacking up in front of him. “A couple of days?! Is that how you’re planning to govern your country? You just come up with an idea one minute and decide to execute it the next?” Perhaps Morghiad wasn’t planning to use him as strategically as he had assumed.

“It felt right.” Morghiad took a sip of his wine.

Silar emptied his coins onto the bar surface and pushed them in Baydie’s direction. He kept his voice low: “I’m concerned for you. Is there something else wrong?”

“No.” Morghiad met his eyes.

“Not that you’d tell me if there was.” Silar picked up his own wine and took a deep draught. It was good stuff. Baydie was a reliable source when it came to under-the-counter fine wines.

Morghiad seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth. There
was
something on his mind. “You have parted ways with Lady Allain?”

“How’d you guess?”

“That foul look on your face,” Morghiad said.

Silar laughed a little before letting his smile fade. Did he really look that sullen? Blazes!

Morghiad pressed on: “...And of course you wouldn’t be here otherwise. I imagine you would have savoured what time you could with her.”

Damned man was trying to predict his actions. Silar was supposed to be the one extracting information. He had a small clue at least. Morghiad had deflected his question with one about Lady Allain. Some train of thought in the kahr’s mind had made the connection with the answer. What were the options? The Allain family could be making trouble. Perhaps Acher’s pressure over his lack of a female companion had become too burdensome. That could be it, though his father’s demands had never worried Morghiad before. Silar could try women as a general subject - that would be a good opening gambit. “Women can be a thorn in one’s side, can they not?”

Morghiad set his mug down. “Stop trying to probe me. I know your methods.”

Beetan chimed in at that moment, grabbing Silar’s shoulder: “Rahake’ll give you a good probing if you ask him nicely! Thanks for the ale, my lord.” The orange-haired man looked very pleased with himself. “And an excellent speech today, lord-captain.”

Morghiad responded with a nod as Beetan took up the four beers and transported them back to his group, swaying a little as he went.

“Morghiad. I think about a third of your army is going to be out of action in ten days’ time.”

The kahr’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Then we had better be prepared.”

“I will be one of those off-duty.” Silar added.

The darker man returned to his drink. “I need that brain of yours, Silar. Make sure you’re not out for too long.”

So Morghiad
did
have plans which involved him, after all! He knew it! His elation was short-lived, however; he was beginning to get a headache.

Chapter 3

Rain slicked the deep green stone of the city and further darkened the shaded spine-towers of the castle. It hammered down on the rooftops, cascading from the grooves in the tiling and trickling down the sides of the light wells. It pelted the glass of Morghiad’s window, bringing his attention to the gloom of the low-hanging clouds outside. He had been rather distracted lately; focusing on a particular task had been difficult and maintaining any sort of control over his emotions had been... challenging. The environment around him felt disrupted somehow, as if there were a break in the air or earth that he couldn’t see.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel for all the distributaries bifurcating from the vast, central torrent of Blaze Energy. His senses found thousands of them and he knew that each stream represented a wielder, somewhere in the world. Some distributaries were small, barely percolating anything away from The Blazes. Most of the rest were middling in size. There were, however, three very large courses emanating from the main. Morghiad was confident he was powerful enough to handle each of the women that they represented. The one that gave him cause for concern was the fourth-largest. He had observed it during his time training as kanaala, noting the speed of its growth with each month that passed. It was a hard thing to admit, but he feared how much larger that stream might become.

Cadra was safe from these women in any case, since Acher had long ago banned wielders from entering Calidell. Any that were born locally were destroyed before they could cause harm to their families, or more typically their lovers. The most dangerous were those that were not even aware of what they could do.

As kanaala, Morghiad was part of a team that regularly swept Cadra, looking for wielders who may have slipped through previous searches. They were easily detectable within a few tens of yards to him, farther if they were especially powerful. He did not relish taking the children, however. There had been some difficult situations involving the younger ones.

He had not sensed any in the city for months now. Perhaps the efforts of the last few-hundred years had paid off, and the blazed women were dying out. Morghiad ran his emerald eyes along the roughened bookshelf. There were a great deal of books on battles - not terribly exciting to read but quite important, nevertheless. He enjoyed the histories more: especially those that described the impossible decisions made by former kings and how, frequently, the outcome was down to luck or situation.

His favourites by far were the stories and poems of legendary warriors. The kahr had amassed quite a collection over the years. Some were utter fiction, of course. But some, he believed, had a true root in history. A red, leather-bound tome with a dull shine drew his gaze. It was perhaps a thousand years old, the pages were flaking at the edges and the whole thing was considerably foxed.

He sat down in his armchair and gently laid the book upon his lap. The title read, “Chronicles of the warrior, Artemi,” in heavily stylised lettering. The book was a classic, which Morghiad imagined most people had read during their childhoods. A great deal of it was poetry about the red-haired swordswoman and her exploits, and the tale had made the name popular amongst parents of lookalike offspring. That pretty, young servant girl was evidence of the tradition. He pushed the image of
that flaming hair girl
, as he had come to call her, from his mind again. It was becoming troublesome.

Morghiad let out a heavy breath through his nose and focused on the words that lay on an open page.

“...And taking up the blade from her thrice-made enemy,

The lady cast Blaze upon the brown-haired head,

Blue and white and blistering as ice,

It curled, tapered and began the air to splice,

The fires of Achellon had never wrought such heresy,

Yet still her foe re-stood, and staggered, called and bled,

‘You shall not defeat me out of jealousy!’

Still moving, Mirel caged up the fires and said:

‘Come here and die today, my Artemi,

I bring to you your destiny...’”

Morghiad had never quite been able to work out where jealousy came into it. He flicked through a few more pages, principally examining the pictures. Cadra was in one of them, looking a bit smaller and flatter. Grey defensive walls still prodded the clouds in an accusatory manner with their great height. He snapped the book shut, wincing as he remembered its age. His mind went back to the red-haired girl in blue. He wondered what she would look like in full battle garb, sitting astride a warhorse.
No.