City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (56 page)

“It’s nothing. Just -”

The man grabbed her throat and she felt fire course violently through her skin from his hand. Immediately she reached out for The Blazes before he could get to them. But her headache had dulled her reactions, and he took hold of the fires first. None of her muscles would move to fight him. She was paralysed completely, she realised. Then he started to
pull
on something. It hurt so much it sent the pain from her head into a dull, background whine. It felt as if every organ in her body was being torn out, one by one, with his hands. Artemi wanted to scream, to cry, but she couldn’t even move her lungs to breathe or her mouth to make sound.

Calm. She had to stay calm. Morghiad had sensed her pain and was coming for her now, and she could feel his urgency. Hegard was a considerable-strength kanaala, but he did not match the kahr even closely. If she could overpower Morghiad then this man shouldn’t be much trouble. She pushed her pain aside and poured all of her reserve and determination into taking control of The Blazes. His eyes widened at her force, and she pressed harder towards the flames. She urged, willed them to come to her. They seemed to be fading in intensity. Already her ability had been considerably depleted. The agony of having it ripped from her now came in a torrent she could not ignore. She fought back again. A trickle of energy came through, but Hegard stamped it down immediately. Morghiad was closer now. Artemi just needed to hold on, she needed to fight. Her vision started to blur, everything was going red. Something in her being fractured, and she realised with horror that she could no longer sense her own power. He had sterilised her. The pain didn’t stop; Hegard kept pulling great strips of life from her mind. She could no longer hear anything but hiss; the world had gone a brilliant white. Artemi had to accept that she could not resist the fate he had in mind for her. Morghiad, she thought, would be very angry at her for this.

Chapter 17

Morghiad caught hold of her before she hit the ground. His mind was hollow, devoid of emotion. And devoid of her. He clamped his hand on the side of Artemi’s face. The blazes echoed from her skin as they did from clothes she’d worn or pages she’d touched, but there was nothing inside. Only a resonance. This body was now no more than a pretty shell. He set it down on the stone tiles, red-gold hair pooling about its head. “Beodrin, stay here with the rest of the men. No one is to enter this room. Silar, with me.”

The blond man’s eyes were glazed. He took a moment to register the order, turned to vomit in the corner and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before turning back to nod slowly. His mouth worked before he spoke. “I did not see
this
. I never saw
this
.”

At least Morghiad was thinking clearly. He needed that clarity now. Hegard could have done this independently, but it was Acher’s fault that snake of a man had been obliged to do it. It was Acher’s fault Hegard had been brought here in the first place. The king had taken everyone the kahr had cared about, every member of his family, every person he loved. Unconscious steps had brought him from the room where she’d been murdered and back to the vast marble corridors, where his feet thundered against the stone floor.

He clenched his jaw and let the heat of his fury fill every muscle and sinew of his body. Even the hallway air seemed to boil around him when it should have bitten in. He knew where to find the king, since every stationary guard who caught sight of his expression nodded to where they’d last seen him. They all knew what was about to happen, what had been inevitable for so long now. The kahr found himself approaching the great Malachite Hall. Three of the guards he’d assigned to Artemi were standing at the door. Why were they here? Those men should have given their lives in protecting her! Morghiad pushed his angry curiosity aside. Their punishment would come later. He stood at the entrance, but said nothing. The stares of the soldiers floated over him and Silar as they opened the vast panels. Morghiad strode through and proceeded into the dull air beyond. It was especially dark and oppressive in the winter, and he could now feel the coldness of his sweat pressing against his skin. A crowd of nobles clustered around a central point: the throne. And on it would be King Acher.

Morghiad drew close enough to be heard. “LEAVE.”

The noblemen and women turned around in shock, but slowly began to disperse. As far as they knew, he outranked every one of them. They revealed the guards circling the king, whose face was a picture of surprise. “What is the meaning of this?” he stuttered.

The kahr drew his bloodied sword. “Men, at ease.” Neleum and Laothoe were among them. Had the king purposefully taken them away from her? The soldiers immediately did as they were told, and went to man the numerous exits. “Before I finish your twisted and selfish excuse for a life, I want to know why.” Morghiad felt his voice crack, but he couldn’t control it.

Acher stood and drew his own sword. He would not be an insignificant challenge. “You are too weak to kill me, boy.”

The kahr shook his head slowly. His anger surged; the black river of hate inside him was overflowing, seeping into his veins. “Why did you kill them all?”

A smile broke out across the bearded man’s face. He began to laugh. “You finally remember, then? Or did someone have to tell you about your pathetic little half-breed family? Why did I kill them? Because I could. I thought you might be useful, but you’re just as feeble as your father: a failure.”

Morghiad channelled all of his malice into his muscles; he fed off it hungrily. Calmly, he said, “I bet you hated that he was the one bedding my mother when you weren’t able. You are the failure: unable, even, to produce an heir of your own blood.”

Something flashed in Acher’s eyes. He growled, “You know nothing of Medea! She cared for me more deeply than you could comprehend.” He stepped towards Morghiad, lip curling. “Every night she spent with your father, she spent it thinking of me.”

“A woman cannot endure the company of a man she does not love. You should know that by now.” Acher stayed silent while Morghiad threw his sword to the other hand. “And why Artemi? She did nothing to harm you.” He wanted to mourn her now. He wanted to howl and tear down the entire building, but he had to hold it back just a moment longer.

Acher’s fierce growl broke into a smile again briefly, but it was weak. “I don’t like witches in my city, boy. She was a nothing, an irritating little fly that needed swatting.”

Distantly Morghiad heard several blades being drawn, but he only focussed on his next movements. In complete silence, he stepped once, twice and swung his weapon. The king ducked awkwardly but managed to block the strike. Pure fury erupted from the very depths of the kahr’s soul. It consumed him entirely; and he wanted to dispense with the sword
entirely
so that he could tear Acher’s head off with his bare hands. The king was a strong fighter, but it took only three fast strikes before the man was weaponless. Morghiad thrust his elbow into the king’s face, sending him sprawling into the marble beneath. He didn’t even think about the final blow; it just came as part of a string of movements fed by his emotions. Acher’s head rolled away from the platform, still grinning inanely. The kahr drank his vengeance deeply. It felt... hollow. Silar approached to inspect the body of the former ruler. He knew better than to say anything.

“Is Artemi...?” Neleum’s voice echoed through the hall. “Is she really... ?”

Morghiad felt his legs weaken. He slumped into the nearby throne, unable to stand any longer. She wasn’t there in his head: none of her fire-bound emotions, only a cold vacuum left by her flame. He wanted to answer Neleum’s question, to say the words. But he could not bring himself to do it. The kahr buried his face in his hands. All of his plans had been for nothing, and Calidell would fall without her to rule it.

***

Nestled deeply amongst a crowd of green-stone buildings lay a dark urchin of a castle, its spine-like towers clawing at the sky for escape. Darkness pervaded this fortress in both aspect and mood, but from the dim passages strode a giant of a man. His grim face was a cut square of granite and his eyes appeared made of glass. He was a man in reflection, for he considered the words spoken to him by a famous warrior many years previously, “We are all fires in a gale: some of us are quickly snuffed out; others are temporarily fuelled by the torrent of air. And the rest? Well, they are the ones that are blown from one place to another. They are the ones that never go out.” Koviere smiled to himself, and took a deep breath of the air that fed him.

THE END
…..
of

…..

Volume 1 of
The Fireblade Array

……….