City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (9 page)

The kahr stood up and placed the text back in its gap. He tried to think very hard about other things. A practice session was scheduled for the day and he ought to get ready for it, though there was a good chance the session would be unattended. He would just have to grit his teeth together and work through it, even if he was alone in that vast place.

He examined his clothing: fitted black trousers, soft leather black boots that went to his calves and a loose, white shirt. It would do. He buckled his sword to his waist, added a short sword to the belt and placed a dagger each in the tops of his boots. Morghiad departed the cool airs of his bedroom and stepped into the frigid airs of the broad hallway beyond. He appreciated the slow whine of the door as it swung shut behind him. It was quite intentional, and would give him some warning if an assassin came for him in the night.

The gallery which gave access to his rooms was broad, equally as high as the Malachite Hall and simply decorated. He remembered when he had arrived here as a young boy, thinking everything had been made for a giant. It was not customary, or safe, for Cadran kahrs to grow up in the castle and so he had spent his first years secreted away on a farm in western Calidell. Morghiad often wished that he could remember his time there.

Silar had been right in his prediction. The practice hall looked to be about a third-emptier than it normally was. Morghiad watched in contemplative silence as the lieutenants gathered roll calls from the sergeants. Silar was there, too, looking somewhat worse-for-wear. He was probably ten days into abstinence now, and clearly had begun to feel the first pains. “How many present, Silar?” Morghiad asked.

“Six hundred and fifty-five, my lord.” Silar barely squeezed the words out.

“Very good. Now you must leave.”

The lieutenant grimaced with disappointment. “I am still perfectly capable of swinging a sword -”

“You are no use to me in that state. Go and I’ll see you in a few days.” Morghiad took the papers from Silar’s hand. “I’ll look after your men.”

Silar nodded with a pout and withdrew to the rear of the hall. He sat on one of the tables for a moment, apparently examining the ceiling, and then staggered out of the room.

Rahake, Beetan, Hunsar and Beodrin circled Morghiad to inform him of their counts before breaking away to their men. After a short wait, Tortrix, Pavon, Baculo, and Eupith handed their numbers to Morghiad too. Five-thousand, seven-hundred and forty-six men had made it in. Another seven-hundred and three made up Luna’s battalion, which was defending the city today. Only two were suspected of taking time off to recover from a hangover, which wasn’t too bad a start. Exactly a third suffering
nalka
, as Silar had predicted. That man did have a knack of divining useful information from complicated situations.

Morghiad placed the rolls at the back of the platform for later filing and called his army to attention.

“I am honoured that so many of you have chosen to devote yourselves fully to defending Calidell. As your absent colleagues will be currently aware, becoming a world-renowned army does not come easily. It will be a tough haul to become what we must, but every one of you knows that the payoff will be worth it. I intend to work you hard today. Be strong, this country depends upon your strength.” Morghiad always felt slightly ridiculous doing these speeches. He was never quite sure if he had been overdramatic.

“We’ll begin with one-on-two duelling. I will lead Lord Forllan’s battalion.”

Morghiad jumped down from the platform and strode purposefully to Silar’s men. He slid his sword from the scabbard and motioned to the two soldiers closest to him. They approached steadily and unsheathed their weapons as well. The rest of the battalion organised themselves into groups of three, taking it in turns to be the outnumbered fighter. 

“You will be our enemy.” Morghiad nodded to the taller man. He had a narrow face and beady eyes that would look shifty in most situations. The smaller man had something of a paunch but looked to be well-muscled in his arms, even so. To add to the roundedness of his appearance, he had also shaved his head. Morghiad threw his sword into his left hand as the smaller man took up position on his right.

“Begin.”

Narrow-face came forward at Morghiad with a diagonal cut. The kahr parried with ease but did not attack, leaving his new ally to do so. Bald head made a bold strike across the neck of his opponent’s blade. Narrow face easily re-directed it and began a bout of counter attacks, leaving Morghiad to interrupt them with a half feint and a series of down slices. The three men whirled about each other, swords whipping through the air. Morghiad was fast discovering that he would have to hold back and fight a greater battle with his frustration. At least he was beginning to work up a good sweat; that was something.

Artemi watched the drips falling from the light well in her chamber as they made a dull ‘flup’ sound upon hitting the floor below. They looked rather pretty as they fell. She had never seen a real gemstone up close but she had been told that they glittered as rain would in the sun. She caught one before it hit the ground and examined it in her hand. The water was actually quite dirty, having fallen several leagues from the surface to the cellars below. Rain was probably the only thing that ever cleaned these wells. She shook the water from her hand and proceeded to ready herself for the next round of duty. Another day of scrubbing the sheets of ungrateful nobles! She could hardly wait.

Artemi tightened the laces of her bodice and tied them off at the base of her spine. Just as she had entangled her fingers for the second time, Caala came bustling in.

“Artemi, lass. I need you to cover for me. Don’t worry yourself about your usual duties today. Feodora has taken ill with another case of blazed
nalka
and I have to do her bloody shift. Will you see to the kahr’s bed linen for me?”

Artemi unhooked her hands from the loops at her back. “I thought you told me to stay away from his sort?”

Caala smiled and began to adjust Artemi’s lacing. “Morghiad’s a funny lad. Let us just say... I don’t think he’s a threat to you, though I daresay a pretty girl like you might turn him!” She punctuated her quip with a sharp tug on Artemi’s lacing. “In any case, he’ll be practicing killing people all day so you won’t see him.”

Artemi raised her eyebrows. “Alright then. I’ll see to the ‘funny lad’ for you.”

Caala chattered on: “Do you know where his rooms are? Just head to the guest apartments and turn left at that bloody big moth. You’ll enter an even bigger hallway with white marble floors. His room is on the left.”

A thought occurred to Artemi: “Are the king’s rooms nearby?”

“No. But watch out for him anyway.” Caala finished tying Artemi’s laces. Artemi turned to her friend. “I’ll be on the lookout for bearded monsters.” She hugged Caala and they parted company.

The hallway outside Kahr Morghiad’s rooms was air-f and even beautiful, after a fashion. Artemi examined the marble floor as she walked its mirror surface. It appeared to have gemstones lodged inside it! They did indeed look like glinting droplets of water, and she deeply wished she could take a small section back to her rooms to admire. Sadly, there was work to do; a woman could not spend all day looking at floors. Just how many sheets did this man have, anyway? Was it really a job that would take up her entire day and preclude her from completing any other duties? She knocked once, and then pushed the dark wooden door open.

His rooms were quite sparse, and in-keeping with the rest, very grey. Three ivory veils draped across the windows. Was she supposed to wash those as well? A wide bed dominated the room, its black wooden spears almost brushing the ceiling. Artemi could not resist stroking the wood. It was so dense, so cold to the touch and so highly polished that it felt almost as if it were made of stone. A grand fireplace stood opposite, apparently carved from a single piece of silvery-grey granite. She walked over and ran her fingers along its straight-cut angles. The stripes of quartz in it tugged at her fingertips while the rest felt gloriously smooth. Its height reached well above her head and she could easily have stood inside it as she could stand in her own room.

A brown leather armchair sat to one side. Its arms looked curiously worn – an old piece of furniture in an otherwise immaculate room. Her eye was then captivated by the objects behind the chair. Books. Hundreds of them! They stood on broad shelves that ran the width of the chamber. She had never seen so many in a person’s room. Artemi stepped towards them, taking in their soft scents and teasing her own eyes with the view of their aged spines. All the texts she could see were bound in leather or hide, all good quality. Some looked as if they were older even than the Era of Floods. What a treat it would be to be allowed to touch them, to read the contents of their pages.

She sighed and pulled her fingers through her hair. She did not want to lose her job over snooping before she had received her first pay.

Artemi made her way back to the fine bed and looked over the pure, white sheets. They looked like soft clouds loosely held atop a floating shelf. It certainly appeared to be more comfortable than the cellar bedroll. She closed her eyes and listened. She could not hear a sound; perfect and uninterrupted silence. What wonderful tranquillity the nobles could enjoy! Artemi quashed the growing feelings of envy, or tried to, and began to strip the sheets.

His shirt was slashed and dripping with sweat; the sword handle had begun to slip in his hand. His eyes stung and his breathing was coming quickly. Finally, Morghiad felt as if he’d had an excellent session. He had left the other men practising basic forms some time ago, choosing ten good fighters to take on. The battle had begun with fluidity and he had met each blade with little difficulty, but some of the soldiers had taken it upon themselves to join in with the battle. At first they had entered in jest, hoping their growing numbers would overwhelm him and provide some amusement for the hall. But the space around him was limited and only so many could ever attack at once, an aspect of the situation that Morghiad could use to his advantage. The speed and intensity of the fight soon became exhilarating. He felt alive! He leapt past the shoulders of two of the fighters and, quite by chance, caught sight of the men around. They had stopped practising the forms. What were they
doing
?

“Enough!” He sheathed his sword and made sure that his eyes moved across everyone in the immediate viscinity. “I see that practice has ended for the day. We’ll finish early then. Be off with you.” They stood around gawping at him. Had he grown horns? “What?”

Tortrix marched up to him, looking red-faced and perspiring heavily. “No one,” he breathed, “Has done THAT before.”

Morghiad immediately felt uncomfortable. “Just having a bit of fun, Tor. Let’s get this hall cleared out.” He didn’t want people goggling any longer than they should.

The older man blinked and flicked his eyes to the side while his lips formed a half smile. “A bit of fun. I see. Well, captain, it’s not often we observe the sort of ‘fun’ of one man facing thirty experienced swords.” Tortrix shook his head and clambered onto the platform. “Home time! Shift your backsides! Now!”

The army began the slow process of draining from the practice hall. Morghiad tried to wipe some of the sweat from his eyes, only succeeding in further suffusing them. The shirt was irrecoverable but at least it wasn’t covered in his blood this time. There had been some embarrassing walks back to his room in the past.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity while the six-thousand gossiping men dispersed, Morghiad made his way to the dark arched corridors of the lower castle. The day’s rain had seeped into the very rock of the building, making the walls and ceilings glisten in places. It smelled very much of moist earth and burning lamp oil. The chill of the lower hallways was starting to dig into his damp skin, making him quicken his pace. The gardens were close-by and he fully intended to take advantage of air that did not smell of sweat or caves. It was so much better to be outside. Besides, the gardens could look rather attractive at this time of the year.