Nation of Blaze (Volume 2 of The Fireblade Array)

Prologue

Rainwater drizzled down the black walls of the carved tunnels beneath the castle, creating a sheen that reflected splinters of grey light from the wells above. The passageways were silent, save for the occasional catch in the kahr’s breath or drip of water. To the few, wretched creatures that lived down there, he appeared as a dead man - his eyes were glazed over, his face expressionless and body inert. For all the stillness of his countenance, his mind worked at considerable speed. Three days had passed since he had taken up his position, and three days remained before his pain would be gone. Nalka had not spared him in his mourning, though Morghiad would rather have remained imprisoned by its pain forever. He considered the same problems in sequence. First, no one had come to arrest him for his crime. The guilt of it weighed upon him; he had sought justified retribution and yet he had committed an unjust act. He had to pay the price as any other Calidellian would. Second, Artemi would return in a few days, but he had no idea where to start looking for her. Third, the country was leaderless, and he had a responsibility to secure it.

The short beard that had propagated along his jaw itched furiously. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed. He should have bathed for Artemi’s funeral. He should have attended Artemi’s funeral. Instead he had hidden in the darkest corners of the castle and only visited her when everyone else had departed. She had looked very pale, he remembered, paler even than her naturally fair skin should have been.

They had dressed her in her uniform and given her an officer’s burial, but they had strewn fire-blossoms through her hair as if she were a queen. Morghiad could not comprehend where anyone could have found fire-blossoms in the heart of winter. Their smell had been spicy, powerful and hot like the height of summer. It was a scent that would stay with him. He wanted to hear her voice, or see a smile unfold on her lips. But many years would pass before he’d know those things again - if they found her, or if she chose to return to him, and if he still lived.

He moved his green eyes to examine the earthen floor; it was damp and smelled heavily of mould. She could be anywhere in the world, and no books he’d read ever spoke of a pattern in vanha-sielu rebirths.

She should have been his queen.

He had to find a new leader, but no one else knew the intimate workings of the country so well as Acher’s old inner circle. Morghiad trusted none of them to look after Calidell and Gialdin responsibly. More and more, he was pushed to the conclusion that he would have to step in. He deserved to be in prison, but the country would be better off if he was not. This brought him back to the other problem: who could respect and follow a king who was a murderer?

A sharp spasm shot its way through his muscles, causing him to grunt involuntarily. Morghiad shifted his position slightly to relieve some of the pain, but it had little effect.

If he were king, he would have the means to care for Artemi through her vulnerable years. Perhaps it would be better if Calidell had a well-meaning criminal for a king in the short-term. It was possible, he thought, that he could stabilise the situation before he was hunted down in the streets. Right at this moment, he had very little to lose either way.

Morghiad stumbled to his feet. His whole body had been weakened by his prolonged stillness. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten, though it would probably have tasted like sawdust if he’d tried. He placed a hand on the tomb door and rested his forehead against it. He whispered to it, I hope our paths cross again, then the First Heir of Calidell straightened and staggered to the lamp light at the head of the tunnel. It was time to take The Marble Throne.

A scruffy administrator stumbled in with a leaning tower of creased and brown papers. He barely stayed upright before setting them onto the desk with a presumptive thud. Updates of pending trials, my lord.

Silar muttered thanks and went back to the document in hand. It was worrying. Acher had only been dead eleven days, and already rulers from neighbouring nations were staking their claim on the crown. An especially slimy group of nobles had been present at the king’s execution, and it had not taken long for the truth of Morghiad’s parentage to become public knowledge. And now a multitude of hidden problems had begun to surface. There were accounts to be settled, lords to be appeased and laws to be bent. Thankfully Acher’s old council, more like valets than advisors, had gone to ground as soon as the king had been dispatched. It had left a clear path for new administration, but also some large holes in day-to-day governance.

Silar felt utterly out of his depth. He was far too young for this! The sooner Kahr-Bloody-Self-Flagellating-Morghiad crawled out from his hole, the better. He was needed, but his state of mind was fragile at best. Of course, they had all lost something dear to them with Artemi’s death. Silar still couldn’t expunge the image of her descent to the floor from his mind. He’d never managed to subdue his affection for her.

We all miss her, Lord Forllan. But there’s plenty to keep us occupied through it. Beodrin stood at the door, holding yet another set of reports.

Captain. Silar offered the man a chair. I take it you have some news on the city rioting?

Beodrin nodded and added his paperwork to the growing mountain. Suppressed, for now. Oddly enough, some of them seemed to believe we’d conspired to kill Morghiad as well. Though I suppose his obscurity would give many cause for concern.

Silar kept his smile hidden. Rumours of a murderer becoming a victim worked very well to elevate such a man to hero. The army’s reputation would suffer in the short-term, but that would be rectified as soon as the kahr showed himself. He’ll take charge once he’s finished guarding her grave.

That could take months. The stocky captain rubbed at his arms awkwardly.

Silar pushed that particular concern aside. Let’s keep things together for now. We need to plan for a few invasions. I have reason to believe Hirrah is already mustering its force-

A servant burst into the room, red-faced and breathless. Kah – ah... Lord Morghiad, my lords. He’s in the Malachite Hall, demanding to be made king!

Silar immediately stood and rearranged his crumpled, red coat. That is good timing. We’d better see that it is done, had we not, Captain Mori?

Aye, General Forllan. That, we should.

The pair paced down the bitter grey corridors, dim shafts of light brushing the men with each well they passed. The castle had become very quiet in the last few days. Most of Acher’s lackeying court of nobles had left, fearing a war, and many of the servants found themselves with no one to wait upon. Most now remained in their quarters or wandered the city. Silar couldn’t help feeling a degree of pleasure at the lack of aristocrats. Courtiers were the worst breed: they worked little yet lived in the most extravagant luxury. The old king had handed out some rather meaningless titles to the most slippery ones, and had granted them even more money and liberties to gorge themselves upon their chosen fetishes. Morghiad would have to entertain these people as well, as much as he would despise it. He’d already offended a number of the larger families by rejecting their daughters, and would now have to find a way of regaining their friendships.

In spite of these fractures in Calidellian politics, Morghiad’s preparations for Artemi’s rule had fallen into place very smoothly. The only problem, of course, had been the rather significant absence of a figurehead.

Beodrin and Silar paused only momentarily as the guards pushed open the grand, stone doors of the Malachite Hall. The light from the outer corridor appeared to drain helplessly into the enormous chamber beyond. They stepped into the heavy gloom with giant cuts of limestone glittering above them, and at the far end, Silar could make out a tall and dark figure leaning on the back of the throne.

The great chair was carved from the darkest shade of onyx, which was striated with deep-green veins. Its arms and legs had been moulded in such a sinuous and organic fashion that it appeared to have grown from the small dais it crowned. As Silar drew closer, he realised with horror that Morghiad looked barely strong enough to lower himself to sit in such a chair. He had lost a great deal of weight. Though once smooth-muscled and exuding strength, this man’s clothes hung limply from his frame as if borrowed from a giant. Black hair dangled in bedraggled strands from his head, a short, straight beard had grown along his jaw and his eyes looked an age older than their twenty-seven years. The wizened creature nodded at the two men once they had stopped walking.

Good to see you’ve kept the place in order in my absence. I must offer you my thanks. His voice sounded considerably stronger than his body looked.

Beodrin frowned. Are you sure this is the right time to do this? You look like y-

Now is the time, Morghiad said calmly.

Captain Mori looked at Silar with resignation, and Silar compressed his lips. What do we need to do to get this underway?

Morghiad’s eyes darted to the collection of administrators who had gathered to their left. Do you have the oath and charter ready?

At their front, a short man with long hair nodded keenly. Yes, my lord. Silar noticed that the man next to him held a heavy seal and wax.

As General and Captain of the Army of Calidell, I will need you both to witness... Morghiad inhaled sharply before continuing, ... witness the documents. He seated himself confidently on the throne and bade the secretaries come closer.

A series of promises followed, and Silar inscribed his name next to Beodrin’s rounded script.

Lord-General Silar Forllan of the Army of Calidell sounded a little excessive, he had to admit.

With the paperwork done, the diminutive record-keeper announced that Morghiad of House Jade’an, once Defender-Kahr of Gialdin, was now King of Calidell in name and in law. The new king stood and clasped his sinewy hands behind his back. Set the coronation for three days from now. I should at least be standing upright for it, and I ought to bathe.

Inspiring first words for a king, Silar thought drily. You really ought to eat something, too. No one will appreciate you falling over from malnutrition on a national feast day.

King Morghiad locked eyes with him but ignored the comment. I want you to see to it that Acher’s benay-gosa are returned to their families, if they have them. See that all of them are well looked-after.

A wiry, bookish-looking administrator spluttered, But they are royal property! It is more typical for the new king to adopt them or have them executed if they have exceeded...

Morghiad’s glare shamed the man into silence. There will be no more benay-gosa in Calidell, ever. Also, this country’s laws on wielders must be changed immediately. The banishment must be lifted and penalties of execution removed. They are now equal and honoured members of Calidellian society.

Out of the corner of his eye, Silar caught a small smile as it flashed briefly across Beodrin’s lips.

The king paused and looked at the floor. Finally, and most importantly, I want you two to work together to find Artemi. Silar, we’ll need to exploit whatever sources we can. Beodrin, put together six groups of the best men for the task. Toryn should be among them. There should be no more than three men per group, but each must have a kanaala. We’ll have them scour the globe for her. I don’t care how long it takes. I need to know that our queen is safe.

Chapter 1

Artemi padded silently down the red-painted hallway; a soft leather bag crossed her back atop a sword, and six highly polished knives marched up her black-swathed legs. The building smelled heavily of damp stone and burning lamp oil, this far into the night. She pulled the headscarf more tightly across her face with a gloved hand. Now was not the time to be identifiable.

The office door drew near, and from her position in the shadows Artemi could see a lone guard. She withdrew her sword without so much as a whisper, scaled the wall and clambered into the ceiling joists. From there she jumped nimbly between the posts, always keeping her movements inaudible, until she reached a position above the guard. As was usually the case, he leaned upright against the wall, half-asleep and barely sentient.

She dropped down onto his shoulders, clamping a gloved hand across his mouth as he fell to the floor. Artemi thrust her knee into his left temple before he became fully aware of his predicament, and stood quickly to meet any reinforcements. None came. She glanced back down at the guard as she re-sheathed her blade. He would be stunned for just enough time to allow her to find what she needed. She placed her hand on the door, and put her head close to listen for people inside. It was quiet. Artemi pressed down on the iron-wrought handle, slid the door open and stepped inside.

Dim candlelight barely illuminated the book-lined room. It had to hold what she was looking for, but where to start looking for it? Artemi scanned the shelves for a tall, brown binding. It soon became clear that the item was not hidden in plain sight. A broad, wooden desk sat in one corner of the green-carpeted room. She went to it, and began rifling through the drawers.

Nothing.

Nor was it in the cupboards, under paperwork or in boxes. She checked for loose boards and removable areas of carpet, behind books and inside the window shutters.

A sound outside alerted her that the guard was stirring. Time was short. Artemi sat on the desk chair to think for a few seconds, and something crunched. Curious. She stood to inspect the seat. There was something inside the padding... A soft groan touched her ears from behind the office door. Drawing one of her knives, she neatly cut along the lining and reached inside. Her hands touched something flat, soft and smooth. As she gritted her teeth, Artemi pulled out a thin, tan-leather object and opened it. A long list of names and signatures, together with a heavy seal, lay inside.

That was it, she had her evidence!

She quickly stuffed it into her bag, refilled the chair with some of the papers on the desk and pressed the seat down. No one would notice it had been tampered with, unless they specifically went looking for the document. Artemi ran back to the hallway. She was in luck - the guard was still drowsy on the floor. She took the opportunity to close the office door, and gingerly stepped over him before running softly back to the stairs.

Buoyed by the thrill of her acquisition, she pondered what this evening’s distraction might be. She had already rustled horses, released farm animals, started fires, cut leaks into pumping systems and stolen dresses. What would be appropriate here? The house of Lord Gadlond di Certa was well-known for harbouring great stores of gold. Perhaps a bit of good, old-fashioned thievery would be just the thing. Artemi trotted down towards the cellars where she knew she would find the strong room. Town architects did have very free mouths when a young, suggestively dressed lady winked at them and bought them an ale… or four.

The back stairs soon opened out into a subterranean chamber, just as her informant had promised. Its walls were lined with black moss and white effervescence, while the floor was plain, noise-absorbing, footprint-covered earth. Artemi took the fourth tunnel from the chamber and paced silently towards a low, orange glow of lamplight. The corridor soon widened into a galleried area, where she took cover behind a curved stone pillar and peered around it to assess the strong room door.

Two household guards stood wearily at an iron-wrapped entryway, and it was clear that they weren’t being paid enough by di Certa to sleep between shifts. There were no rafters here, so Artemi would have to take a more direct approach. She didn’t especially want to kill anyone, and she didn’t have the maturity to wield yet, so more skilled methods would have to be employed.

From between her breasts, she pulled a glass vial, which she placed above the flame of a nearby torch. The black contents rapidly bubbled, creating condensation within the glass. Artemi peeked around the pillar again, and threw the vial at the wall above the men. It shattered and fell, sending foul black smoke plumes into the air about the guards. They coughed heavily before they dropped to the ground beneath, unconscious. Pinh was pretty terrible stuff to inhale, but was much less likely to kill its victim in such a small dose.

A large set of keys glinted from one of the guards’ belts. Artemi waited for the pinh to settle, and went about extracting her quarry. She tested one key after the other, causing the metal to jangle and echo noisily through the tunnels. The final key on the ring opened the gargantuan strong room door with a very satisfying clunk, and she stepped in to the glittering hoard of misbegotten treasures.

Some of it, she knew, was legitimately collected taxes. However, some was blood money, bribes or just plain stolen. Artemi grabbed the first few portable things that caught her eye and rapidly stuffed them into the bag. When she lifted the last item, a rather lovely silver and diamond tiara, the pile below it toppled with great clangs and chimes.

Ice surged up her spine with is stiffening crystals; too much noise had been made. She ran swiftly from the strong room, past the comatose guards and back to the main chamber. One of these tunnels led to another gallery, and a way out. But which one was it? Artemi went over the architect’s words again. It was either first or fifth. Low echoes of male voices reached her from the steps to the main house. Someone had heard her.

The fifth tunnel was Artemi’s hurried choice, and she sprinted down it as fast as she could. Even if they did manage to separate out the earthen footprints, they would never think a woman capable of breaking into their stores. She grinned to herself and slowed her pace as a second, galleried area became apparent.

Light moved in the tunnel behind her. Artemi had to find the exit soon or hide. In the far corner, a supplies shaft channelled bright white moonlight onto the floor below. It looked promising, and closer inspection revealed that it was a clear route to the surface, but would take an age to shimmy up. She had no choice but to hide. The spaces between the pillars offered the best shadows.

The guardsmen were drawing closer. They were eerily silent now, but she could see the light loping forwards with their steps. Artemi propped herself across two corner columns, and wall-walked up the space between them until she was flat against the ceiling. Her training had given her the endurance to hold such a position for hours, if necessary. She dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Her four pursuers soon entered the gallery, carrying torches and matching her in stealth. There was something odd about the way they were dressed. Their uniform was entirely different from the overly exuberant festivals of embroidery favoured by this household; instead they appeared to be a plain black and green. She knew that the Calidellian army wore such colours, but surely this would be the last place they’d be welcome?

Artemi held her breath while they searched the area below her. She was not far above their heads, and had her hair been left loose, the men would have had to push it aside to see through it. The taller of them, swathed in a black cloak with green embroidery, strode immediately to the exit shaft and peered into it.

If he was here then we’ve missed him, though I doubt he’d have had time to climb this. Let’s check the other tunnels, the man said in a low voice. The others bowed and scurried out while he walked swiftly behind them. It was only as he moved out of view that Artemi allowed herself a small intake of breath. She waited there, not daring to move or breathe again until she was sure it was safe, when a hand grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her down to the floor.

She let out a small grunt as she hit the ground, but was pinned by her assailant before she could react. He pulled off her headscarf.

The black-cloaked soldier stared at her in astonishment. She hadn’t been able to see from her vantage point at the ceiling, but her new position allowed her to observe his face. And he was handsome - hero-of-legend, gut-achingly handsome. A strong jaw and measured cheekbones sculpted his face, which was framed by dark waves of hair and punctuated by bright, intelligent eyes.

He frowned at her. You?

Just wonderful. That blasted king had made her identity known to every bloody soldier in Calidell! When would she be free of him?

What are you doing here? he whispered. He looked about for the other men, and upon seeing none of them, dragged her behind a wide pillar.

Artemi spent little time thinking before speaking. Are you loyal to the king?

Her captor looked confused.

Tell me, yes or no. Are you loyal to him? she pressed.

He nodded, Yes. His brow was furrowed, but his eyes conveyed honesty. Then again, Artemi probably would have believed him if he’d said he was an antelope with a chicken’s head and hammers for feet.

Artemi struggled to sit upright, but he would not let her move. She made an exasperated noise at him in protest. Gadlond and a group of other nobles are plotting to remove him from the throne in three months’ time. They’ve been scheming for years, bribing those the king trusts and searching for holes in his security. I’ve listened in on a few of their meetings but tonight I set my hands on the evidence. It’s in my bag if you must see it.

The man loosened his grip on her almost imperceptibly. Is that so? Why should I believe this?

I’ve seen them talk of it with my own eyes... or ears. But I needed proof before I could take it to the king. There are many of them in this plot: wielder-haters, mostly. And they have mansions full of money to finance their designs. Artemi paused in anticipation of a response.

He didn’t release her, or say anything.

I wasn’t here for the gold. That was just a distraction. Are you even listening to me?

Handsome-face nodded slowly and sat back on his heels. Show me.

She was surprised his soldiers had not missed him in the time they had been speaking, but Artemi proceeded to unhook the leather bag from her newly freed shoulder, dug out the prized binding and handed it to him. At that moment, it was just about her most treasured possession. He began leafing through it calmly in the torchlight, giving no indication as to whether he recognised any names.

What is your army doing here?

He mumbled something obscure about entertaining false hopes, and Artemi did not press further. Finally he looked up and handed the folder back to her. Artemi, this is not proof. It’s a list of names. There is no declaration of intent here.

She sighed. There was no point in keeping any more from him if she wanted to be set free. I do have... other pieces. But I can’t very well tell you where I’ve hidden them until I know I can trust you.

A sound reached them from farther down the tunnel, signalling that one of the men was coming their way. Artemi hoped her eyes conveyed enough panic to her captor.

Fine, keep them hidden for now. I will come to you as soon as I can, and you can show me the rest. He helped her to her feet and led her to the shaft.

My lord? echoed from within the tunnels.

The lord gave no answer.

Now that she was standing opposite the man, Artemi felt very small indeed. He looked at her intently from his distant height. I’ll deal with them. Get out of here, quickly.

Artemi did as she was told, made use of a boost from his hands and was soon scaling the narrow chimney to the surface.

***

Soft, grey clouds rolled lazily across the skies as Artemi gazed up at them. Her only distraction was last year’s harvest stubble, which prodded at her shoulder blades. Her little brother had returned to the house over an hour ago, and the relative tranquillity away from his bubbling chatter had given her an opportunity to consider the man she had met two days earlier.

Her instincts told her that he was trustworthy, and after all, Calidell’s soldiers had famously been instrumental in supporting King Morghiad’s accession. But a part of her feared letting someone else into all the secrets she had uncovered. She had made a promise to herself to only tell the king directly, and this man with his pretty face had made her break it.

It wasn’t that she liked the king especially. After all, he had imprisoned her in this estate, had her educated in pointless things, paid off her father and then bound her to his royal highness with this ridiculous betrothal. Why would she ever want to marry a king when they were all the same: overweight, spoilt, lecherous and brainless? True enough, Morghiad was a reformer and had improved Calidell greatly since Acher’s time, but anyone would have looked good next to Acher!

Thinking of her obligation made her want to part with her breakfast, and most of her lunch. He would surely demand she produce an heir - a process that would surely kill her. Then again, sharing his bed would probably kill her spirit within a few years, and maybe then she would not care if she lived or died.

Artemi pushed her mind to think on more positive matters: that soldier and his inconceivably well-constructed face. She tried to place him from what she knew of Calidell’s army; he was certainly an officer. Only the highest-ranking men knew where she and her family had been hidden away. Her father had often spoken of General Forllan, but he was supposed to be blond. The army’s captain was reputedly quite short, which could only mean her new acquaintance was a lieutenant. Though, that wasn’t much help since she did not know enough about the lieutenants to put a name to him.

She sat up and played absent-mindedly with the new shoots that grew at her booted feet. The entire area would be ploughed for re-planting in the next few days, and these small weeds would be destroyed. Saving the king from a similar fate would not improve her life, but she had to think of the greater good. That was something Sindra liked to remind her of every time she argued against the enforced betrothal, as if marrying a cretin would make him more intelligent!

Something glinted in the forest that skirted the field. It was still leafless at this time of year, but she could not make out anyone in it. Curiosity piqued, Artemi stood and walked cautiously to the tree line. Rows of larch and oak trees towered above her, casting the warm shade that she had grown to love. The flash of light came again, this time from slightly farther to the right. She broke into a jog up the incline, but kept her sword hand ready. At least she hadn’t worn a dress today. Caala was forever getting angry at her for muddying the wrong types of clothing, as if dresses were harder to wash than anything else!

Artemi slowed as she drew near to where she had seen the glimmer. There was no obvious clue as to the source of the light, and so she darted between the massive tree trunks and leapt from bare root to rock in an effort to remain a quiet, moving target. Finding nothing, she stopped at a particularly large oak to examine the brush around her. A heavy smell of horse struck her, and she realised it must have been from the other side of the tree.

Artemi drew her sword, and edged around the side of the trunk very slowly. The sight she was soon met by she could not have expected. A tall, grinning man sat atop an intimidating jet-black war horse. How in blazes had he hidden that vast animal?

You play amusing games, the mystery lieutenant said.

Artemi was speechless. Not only had he out-done her in stalking with an enormous horse, he seemed determined to render her incapable with his smiles. Which fires of Achellon had sought to design such a man that could break any woman’s heart? Or any man’s for that matter? It was utterly unfair that he should look that way!

He dismounted smoothly and approached her. As he neared, she realised his eyes were a brilliant, glittering green. That was it. Artemi allowed anger to surge in her - anger at him and anger at her improbably hopeless situation. Maybe if she stamped on his foot he’d stop smiling. You’ve come to see more evidence. Very well. Follow me, she almost spat.

He reacted immediately to her tone of voice, broad smile diminishing. Is everything alri-

"Yes, everything is just wonderful, thank you. Or it would be if it wasn’t for him, and now you!" Artemi trod noisily through the brown undergrowth, and did not look back to check if he had followed.

He had. My Lady D’Avrohan, you should probably know tha-

I am not a lady anything! I’m a soldier’s daughter. If it wasn’t for that blasted man putting us all here, I’d be merrily going about my business as an ordinary, boring woman! None of this plotting-scuppering nonsense and certainly not an aristocrat.

The lieutenant caught up with her, his great mount walking lazily at his side. You mean the... the, ah, king?

Who else? What other sort of man would think he could reserve a woman for himself without even meeting her? Clearly I am to be kept prisoner, and then used for whatever foul purposes he has arranged. She stomped on a dry-looking twig to punctuate her sentence.

Perhaps he was trying to protect you, the man ventured.

What sort of logic was that? Why protect a woman he doesn’t know? And I hardly think it was for my good over his! Everyone knows kings are selfish. And fat. They’re all famous for being corpulent and uglier than their lackeying courtiers would have everyone else believe. Not that a wielder has a great deal of choice, of course... Presumptuous man!

Her companion stayed quiet for a moment, his expression distant. Have you not had a good life here, Artemi?

The man had a point. Corlands was a handsome home, and it had been fun learning how to fight, especially against those who underestimated her. Her anger calmed in spite of her wish to keep it burning. My childhood could have been much worse. That is true.

If you dislike him so much, why have you gone to such lengths as raiding di Certa’s house to help him?

Artemi stopped walking. "Because it’s fun. And I suppose it is the right thing to do. Why are you loyal to him?"

The lieutenant did not meet her eyes, instead opting to look at the leaf-covered floor. I have no choice. Even in deep reflection the blasted man looked too pretty for his own good.

Artemi softened her tone. It was possible he knew what it was like to be a prisoner of the king. I don’t even know your name.

His expression was dark. Maybe it is best for now that you don’t.

Artemi did not question his secrecy, and resumed her walk to one of the hiding places at the far side of the wood. She could hear the soft sound of the horse’s hooves behind her, though his owner remained entirely silent for the rest of the trek.

Before long, they reached a gnarled shell of an ancient tree. It was an excellent place for hiding things, and Green-Eyes regarded her quizzically.

Artemi concealed a small smile and walked up to a different, rather healthy tree some yards away. She scaled five of the larger branches, drew a scroll from a hollow above her head and added a few acrobatic moves to her descent. Showing off in front of him really wasn’t appropriate in such a situation, but she savoured the raised eyebrow he gave her. He took the parchment gently and sat, legs crossed, at his horse’s feet. Artemi joined him, getting as close as she dared. The man smelled faintly of fresh soap and leather. It was a very good smell.

Hmm, was all he said once he’d finished reading.

This was at Lord Veradlin’s house, she said.

The lieutenant’s expression did not alter. Bracon. I thought he was a friend.

Artemi nodded. His name is on the list you saw the other night. I believe he is financing this heavily.

I suppose his missing horses had something to do with you, as well? the man asked in a deadpan voice.

She could not help but grin. That had been quite an achievement.

His face grew serious. This is not a game anymore. It is dangerous. I don’t want you breaking into another house.

You are not my father.

He compressed his improbably well sculpted lips. No, but I know him. And I believe he would not approve of your... outings, either.

Artemi clenched her jaw tightly. If you are so willing to speak to him then why did you sneak in through the woods?

Toryn would not approve of my visiting you. But if I feel your safety is at risk then I shall have to inform him.

That was intriguing. What had this man done to cause her father to dislike him? He seemed trustworthy enough, didn’t he? Perhaps he was a serial womaniser, and that would make sense, given his looks. This man had to have a flaw somewhere. Then it will remain our secret.

He stood with her and rolled up the rebels’ war plans with his gloved hands. I must take these back to Cadra with me. Keep the list of names safe for now.

Artemi stiffened. They must go directly to the king. You can trust no one else with this. She had few concrete reasons to trust this man. What had gotten into her?

You have my word, he said solemnly.

It was no good. She desperately wanted to trust him, she realised. He turned to wrap the scroll up in one of the saddle bags, which allowed Artemi to freely appraise his fine body. He was dressed in the simple clothes of a villager, but anyone who glanced at his blade or noted his arrogant posture would know there was more to him. His build spoke of strength and endurance gained through years of sword fighting. But then, one had to be accomplished in the skill to become a lieutenant of Calidell. When he turned back to her she tried to assess his age. Guessing such things was an art in itself, but his eyes looked fairly young - probably under a hundred.

Are you any good with that thing? She flicked her eyes to the hilt at his shoulder.

He smiled slowly. You want a demonstration? I’d be happy to oblige, my lady. Clearly he thought that riling her with salutations like that would make for a good fight.

But Artemi had heard them all before. Usually the teases were about her being a woman, undersized, weak and red-haired, but at least this man had humoured her with a marginally more intelligent insult. She shouted, Draw! and pulled out her own, gently curved blade.

He was probably a fair bit stronger than she, but most likely he would underestimate her strength as everyone else did. The lieutenant leapt forward with startling speed, sword flashing in the muted daylight, and in what little time she had, Artemi moved slightly to the left to parry. Blazes alight, he was fast for his size! He moved to strike again, but this time she anticipated it with a rapid swipe of her own.

They met each other’s attacks blade-for-blade through the next few minutes, until Artemi found herself backing into a tree. Why had she not seen that? Her tutors had always encouraged her to make use of any part of the environment, so that was what she would have to do here. When she next hit his blade, she used it as an initial push to lift her feet from the ground, twisted her body, ran up the trunk of the tree and vaulted over his head. While in the air, he raised his sword to catch her. Artemi reacted quickly, and used her cross-guard to trap the point. It allowed her to drag down his blade as she landed, but sent her off-balance as soon as he withdrew it.

They fought on until the daylight had faded to a heavy purple-grey, neither one gaining a particular advantage. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to finish the duel.

Enough! she called. Her opponent immediately lowered his blade. He still appeared to have enough energy to battle through the week! Artemi was exhausted! No one had ever presented such a challenge since she’d been a young hare of a girl.

With some considerable horror, she realised she was coated in mud, leaves and a great deal of sweat. I would love to continue, only my father and Sindra will start wondering where I am. The words came out a little more breathlessly than she would have liked.

The man merely nodded in approval. You’d be a better fighter if you paid more attention to the world around you.

Perhaps his advice was based on sound experience, but she had not asked for it! And who was he to presume she had been gazing at nothing but him, anyway? It was his own fault for looking that way! Artemi was beginning to fume again. "And you’d be a better fighter if you spent less time charming women!" She immediately regretted the words, but held her chin high in spite of it.

He frowned. I think you may have me confused with s-

It doesn’t matter. I must go. Take care of that document for me. With that she spun and strode into the twilight forests. She would need a good drink with the guards after this. At least they were all as ugly as lumpy, fighting men ought to be.

Tyshar pawed gently at the ground as his master pulled the stirrups down from the saddle. Morghiad felt invigorated by the exercise. Challenges like her rarely crossed his path these days, and he knew very well he wasn’t supposed to have visited her yet, but state security had demanded it. He climbed onto the smooth, black leather saddle and kicked the warhorse into a contained trot. None of his memories of her had come close to describing her beauty.

Her immaturity was marked now that he had a few more years of his own, though he knew another year closer to her previous lives would correct that imbalance. An age difference of a few tens of years was a blade of grass against a field of several thousand. He certainly had not expected to lose his heart to her again so quickly, but in a moment she had reclaimed it from him, stamped on it a few times, fuelled it and then locked it in her keep. That was a fool thought, he realised. Artemi had always possessed him - something which several kahrissa and a number of ambitious noblewomen had been forced to recognise.

The tree line began to thin out as he reached a worn, muddy track-way. Morghiad was somewhat annoyed that his attempts to protect her had only served to make him a figure to be despised. If anything, her apparent abhorrence of him made her spirit all the more apparent. He had missed that fire terribly through every trial he had faced, every battle he had marched to. And he had savoured every instance where her hair had fizzled against his skin during their fight. It had taken substantial effort not to take hold of her and kiss the woman until she was his again. The king reined his horse to a halt and listened for followers. The sparse woodland was quiet, save for a few birds emitting their night song, and nothing moved in the trees. He kicked Tyshar forward into a loping canter.

Bracon’s plans were very worrying indeed. How long had he been working towards this? And why hadn’t Silar sniffed this out yet? Lord Veradlin was friendly enough to be aware that Silar was essentially a spy-master, but surely that hadn’t made the schemer invisible? Even Artemi, secluded in this estate, had stumbled upon the plot somehow. Morghiad knew that, of all men, his general could be trusted.

Silar would never allow harm to come to Artemi, and consequently would not risk the position of her main protector. Therefore, there was either something amiss in Silar’s network, or these nobles had been cannier than he had anticipated. He recalled one line from the declaration, ...oust the unlawful kahr who dares to call himself king; execute his witches, and subject him to torture for a duration matching his unlicensed reign.

Eighteen years of torture did not sound especially pleasant. Tyshar charged forward into the dark shadows of the Cordinh forest, as keen to do battle as his rider.

Chapter 2

Dark golden curls bounced around the young lady’s elfin features as she laughed with music in her voice, I cannot seem to out-manoeuvre you, Lord Forllan. Lady Djuran was very appealing by anyone’s measure, but she wasn’t much of a challenge when it came to games requiring a little wit. She put down her large hand of cards. It was full of farm and smithying tools.

Silar set his own collection down: a straight row of swords and wielder fire. No indeed, my lady. Perhaps you need a little more schooling in the game.

She grinned and moved to kiss him, which he allowed. He found it deeply unsatisfying though. It was never what he hoped it to be - like being presented with a sumptuous meal that, upon tasting, turned out to be made of soil. At least Morghiad could understand his impotence, though he was too tightly bound to Artemi to go near another woman even for sport. The door swung open, interrupting the couple’s embrace.

At the entrance stood the king. His features were as stern and hard as a cliff face. I need to speak with you alone, general.

Silar nodded and clasped Lady Djuran’s hand as she stood to leave. She bowed neatly before Morghiad and then stepped noisily down the hallway. The king closed the door behind her with one hand, while the other held a crumpled roll of parchment. He regarded Silar levelly. I thought you loved Artemi.

Follocks! "Artemi did not love me. Nor was I party to her kisses or anything more. So forgive me if I try to find a little entertainment in her absence."

Morghiad looked almost embarrassed. I’m sorry. That was a rare set of words to hear from him!

No. Silar paced across to one of the windows. None of them stir anything in me. Or of me, for that matter. It’s like having a sword made of paper. He hated the way she’d changed everything around in his head. He almost hated her. Why did you even ask me that? And what is it you wish to discuss?

The king took Djuran’s chair and unfurled the parchment on the card table. I’m not sure whom I trust anymore. This was recently brought to my attention. He pushed the document in the general’s direction.

Silar sat down to read it. The first few lines consisted of some dross about making promises or doing the lawful and correct thing for the country. The next lines were quite different, however. Wilrean army? he said aloud.

Read on, Morghiad grunted.

When Silar had finished he sat back in his chair. Bracon masterminded this?

Morghiad nodded. It was retrieved from his house.

How had he not intercepted such plans before now? How had he not seen it, or hints of it, in his visions? This was almost as bad as his blindness to Artemi’s execution. I thought Veradlin was a good man. He supported you from the start.

He has made fools of all of us.

Silar’s mind began to race through the possibilities. Do you know who else is involved?

Morghiad crossed his stretched-out legs. I have seen a list of names. It is being kept safe for now, but I can recall some of the more memorable ones. Cremast and di Certa are among the hundred.

Hundred?! Silar almost fell out of his chair. A hundred notables? They might as well capitulate and go into hiding right now. Morghiad had made life difficult for some of the richer ones, but he wasn’t that unpopular.

The king remained calm. We cannot be sure if that list contains signatories or intended converts. But we can be sure that Veradlin has seen something in them to desire their recruitment. And they are not all powerful people.

Silar needed to pace again. We must find out where they’re meeting. Or how they’re corresponding. Someone has corrupted my network and I do not like that at all. I need those names, Morghiad. And I need to know where the weak points are.

Morghiad nodded. I will ride for the list tomorrow. I believe I can find out where their next meeting will be held. No one is to accompany me and, as far as everyone else needs to know, I’ve taken some leave in the southern falls.

Who is your source?

That is not important.

Yes, it is. There’d have to be a good reason why you’d keep it hidden from me.

Morghiad went quiet.

The general thought for a moment. There was only one person he ever behaved this oddly over, but how could she have become involved? And why would he knowingly risk her life by visiting her? I see she has found her way back into all of our lives, then.

The king met his eyes sharply. She never left. And we crossed paths by accident, before you unleash your accusations.

Does she look the same? Is she the same?

Morghiad smiled. Yes. Perhaps a little more adventurous, and stubborn. I think we have spoiled her.

Silar allowed a small chuckle to escape. Will you... bring her back here?

Not yet. She’s safer where she is. Assuming she doesn’t go raiding any more of the Great Houses.

Silar could not hide his disappointment very well. The last time he had seen her was when Toryn had brought a wriggling bundle of arms and legs into the offices. Of course, she had screamed and yelled when Silar had tried to hold her, but had immediately fallen into a tranquil sleep when Morghiad took her off him. Artemi had looked impossibly tiny in the king’s arms, he remembered. Did everyone start out that small? Will you give the lady my regards, then?

The king nodded and rolled up the parchment again. This was going to be a nasty mess to clean up, and Silar had no idea where to start.

Wan spring sunlight crept into the whitewashed hallways, illuminating the backs of the two tall men as they exchanged jokes. Aval knew they would not be smiling for much longer. She was very glad to have finally been allowed to return to court, and quite dismayed to see how dramatically it had been altered. The king rarely offered his patronage or monopolies unless a nobleman could prove he was serving his community in some overly charitable manner. It was disgusting, and would have to be rectified as soon as she had a hand in government.

Morghiad had failed monumentally to appease her grandfather and his many powerful friends. He would soon learn the folly of his actions. Aval kicked at her skirts while she walked, occasionally glancing at the paintings of landscapes and legendary cities. She stopped before an image of Gialdin.

It looked to have been a beautiful place, full of grand spires, flying arches and impossible waterfalls. It made sense that a man with Morghiad’s looks had come from there, and several landless Gialdinian nobles had confirmed he resembled members of the Jade’an family, though Aval still found it hard to believe.

Her dislike for his policies and cruelties to her had not made him any less desirable, however. If anything, two decades had cut his excellent features into something stronger and more masculine.

Lord di Certa had promised that she could have him once he had been deposed. The poor king would need the comforts of a woman after each day of torture, and she alone had the abilities to make him forget about his dead witch. Then, if she was lucky, she would bear his children and they would take the throne. Aval giggled quietly to herself at the idea of taming the king for her own satisfaction. Even the greatest warriors, schemers and rulers could be subdued with the correct handling.

Artemi slammed her tankard down in frustration, causing Neleum to jump. The man was practically blue from all the tattoos he had acquired over the years. Why should I marry him if I don’t love him? she exclaimed.

Her father rolled his eyes - they’d had this conversation many times before. If you meet him and decide you really don’t want to then you don’t have to. But for now your betrothal guarantees your safety, your brother’s safety and everyone else’s in this house. It keeps him from straying, too.

Oh, come on, father! As if that would stop a king from taking whatever mistresses he likes. She was faintly aware of Neleum coughing at the far end of the table.

Sindra soon joined them for the meal, and put a hand on her exasperated husband’s arm. Artemi, you may find you like him. Have you considered that?

I’ve seen the King of Hirrah: obese. I saw the King of Wilrea: face like a rotted tree stump. And as for the King of Orta... I have yet to see a painting of any royal man that doesn’t make me want to wash my brain through with bleach! How could any queen have shared a bed with those specimens of hideousness? Two more guards accompanied Caala to their seats. Artemi was glad her entire household ate together, unlike the other so-called elites. She had met several of those ‘noble’ offspring during her sword training, and they had found each other mutually odd.

It is unfair to pre-judge him, Artemi, Sindra said, And you may be pleasantly surprised.

Her father grunted. He never really liked speaking of King Morghiad on a personal level. Actually, everyone there seemed to avoid the subject, as if they were having a colossal private joke at her expense.

Silar came bounding up to the table with a miniature crossbow in one hand and a fair amount of mud on his otherwise innocent face.

As bad as your sister, Caala muttered under her breath.

Artemi grabbed him and squeezed him tightly before he could sit down.

He giggled and squirmed. Get off!

She acquiesced, but gave his pale hair a ruffling for good measure. It seemed unfair that she would have to leave Corlands in a few years. She had enjoyed a happy childhood here, but that had more to do with the people and the setting than the interference of any blazed king. Did you catch anything today, Si?

The boy shook his head. Can you come with me next time?

Of course.

Silar was still too young to track hares quietly, but could sit still enough if he’d been carried. Temi? He poked at his food absently.

Yes.

He stuffed a forkful of cabbage into his mouth, but remembered to finish eating it before speaking. Who was that man you were in the woods with a few days ago?

Artemi felt every eye at the table bearing down upon her. She couldn’t prevent her cheeks from flushing terribly in response.

Well? her father pressed.

He was just a farmer. She desperately hoped the lie hadn’t been obvious.

Silar’s tanned brow furrowed. But he was very tall.

She munched heavily on her food as a distraction. Yes, Si. Farmers can be tall.

Neleum raised an eyebrow. We really shouldn’t have farmers wandering in and out of the woods, no matter how tall.

Her father nodded. We’ll scour the perimeter tomorrow. Why didn’t you mention this, Artemi?

I didn’t think he was a problem.

He sniffed. "You cannot afford to trust everyone you meet, girl."

Artemi stayed quiet for the rest of their dinner, thankful that no more was asked about her visitor.

As she stood from the table, dark-skinned Cydia asked, Will you join us for a few glasses of wine, my lady? His gold earrings bobbed as he spoke.

She had to decline. It would only result in more teasing and difficult questioning from the overly straightforward men. I could do with a good night’s sleep, she lied, Maybe next time.

The walk up the stairs to her room seemed to take an age. It wasn’t that her body was weary, but rather her mind felt stretched from her new responsibilities. She needed to escape the house for an evening or longer. Tomorrow she could set off on a new mission; Neleum wanted to visit his family and she would be allowed to accompany him. Her new lieutenant friend did not have to know anything about it.

She stumbled into her warm, weapon-filled room and illuminated it with several candles. Artemi cast off her blue riding dress and slip, before thrusting her face into a bowl of icy water. Once her hair was soaked through, she pulled it back and set her sword by the bed, just as she had been taught as a child. The soft sheets beckoned and, upon answering their call, she immediately fell asleep in a shameful state of undress.

When she opened her eyes again, she was still drowsy, and something discordant had jarred her from deep sleep. Artemi looked around in the moonlit room, but there was nothing untoward hiding in the shadows. She drew her sword toward her, and curled around the edge of the bed to peer beneath it. The space was clear. She sat up again and dragged the top-sheet across her body. Something odd had awoken her.

Artemi remained still but ready.

A noise came from outside.

She poised - crouched on tiptoe, one foot ready to push off the bedside cabinet. A dark shadow filled the window, causing her breath to catch.

The form’s clothing brushed quietly against the leaded glass, and it opened the casement. Slowly, one booted foot advanced into the room. The rest of its body backed-in smoothly, and Artemi rose to a hunched stance. Just as she was about to assail him, the intruder caught his second foot on the sill.

...Getting too old for this, she heard him mutter. His voice sounded familiar.

Keeping one hand on the blanket at her chest, Artemi stepped down to the floor and waited for him to face her. The man turned, and blinked in surprise at seeing her there.

She set down her sword. Do you have any idea how much misery either of us would face if you were discovered here? What are you doing?

Forgive me, I thought you’d be more...

Dressed? In my bedroom, in the middle of the night? Of course I would be.

The lieutenant frowned and looked at the floor. I had to come for that list of names as soon as possible.

Artemi wrapped the sheets more tightly around herself and took a seat on the edge of the bed. I see. Would you care to tell me how you circumvented the guards?

A matter of timing.

Incapacitation or distraction were more likely, since the guard on duty below her window would only be relieved after six hours. Well unless you have implemented some other technique, we won’t be able to leave that way again. The best way out is on the other side of the hall.

He shook his head. There’ll be no ‘we.’ You’re not to- The man flicked his eyes to the door, and he silently swept across the floor to position himself beside the jamb.

The door creaked open. Is everything alright, Artemi? her father whispered.

Artemi had managed to flop onto the bed in time. What? She feigned half sleep.

Her father took a single step into the room. I thought I heard talking.

Nightmare, she mumbled.

He walked in to lean against the bed spear. You know I... I won’t let you marry him if he cannot make you happy.

Artemi sat bolt-upright, casting all impressions of sleep aside.

He continued, He has to do my girl justice. And if he does have any mistresses, I’ll be sure to sever the weapon he entertains them with.

The lieutenant shifted a little in the shadows, but made no sound.

Do you really think he’d release me if I asked? He’s invested so much in us here. I cannot think he would allow me to be free for all the money he has spent on caging me. Artemi kept her excited tones hushed.

I won’t let you marry him if he cannot make you happy. And I doubt even the most powerful king could ever keep you locked-up, my girl.

She felt rather awkward having such a private conversation in front of a man she barely