City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) Read Free Page A

for Cadra over a hundred years and yet they still made foolish mistakes. Left-armed sweeps too extended; down-slices far too heavy. A few had become exhausted after only half the session was complete. It really wasn’t acceptable for an army this well-established. They needed more discipline and less wine, with fewer casual women. He intended to see at least some of these changes made while he was captain, assuming he lived long enough to implement them.
    He suppressed a frown. His sword tutor had enthused about discipline over and again, saying that one could only become a master of the blade if all emotion was dispensed with. Anger was dangerous, fear was only valuable immediately before a fight and love was simply out of the question. Recreation was necessary, but was to be pursued in moderation. Yet this same tutor had captained what Morghiad was fast learning was an operation consisting, to a large degree, of contradictions. Outwardly the men seemed well-ordered and smart in their green and black uniforms. Their actual fighting ability was questionable.
    The old captain had lost his life a few months earlier at a skirmish on the northern Calidell borders, and there had been some discussion as to who should take over his command. Morghiad was the best swordsman and a kahr to boot, but he was hugely inexperienced and didn’t particularly want the post, anyway. In addition, he would have to win over all the disgruntled men who had been better-qualified for the position. His father had intervened, as always, and now he had the responsibility. There was no shifting it.
    He fought off another frown; it felt like more of a grimace this time. He could do with a good duel right now, or maybe a flat-out gallop across the grasslands would clear his head. Silar was happily chatting away about a brunette he’d seen in the city. Another girl who could quite possibly be the love of his life, if only she had met him at the bar last night like she’d promised.
    Morghiad arched an eyebrow. “So you decided to bury your sorrows in the bosom of Lady Allain, instead?”
    Silar’s overly youthful features formed a passable impression of incredulity, and he proceeded to remove his shirt. “Morghiad, Lady Allain is very good company. You’d know that if you spoke to her privately.”
    “...And removed her robes too, no doubt?” Morghiad reached for the wooden bucket at the side of the pool and dunked it in the water.
    “I just think you shouldn’t knock women until you’ve tried them. Some can be quite agreeable, really.”
    Morghiad upended the bucket over his head, relishing the cold water that fell from it. He scraped his hair back, set the bucket down and wiped the remaining water from his face with both hands. “And what am I supposed to do if the King of Hirrah decides to invade in two weeks’ time? Shall I ask him if he wouldn’t mind waiting, only my best swordsman isn’t feeling very well?”
    “Second-best,” Silar said with a smile, “Besides, you can’t just avoid women while you wait around for a war to come along. What sort of life is that? And nalka only happens if you stop sleeping with them, anyway!” The blond lieutenant picked up the bucket and commenced his own ablutions.
    Morghiad scanned the courtyard, water still dripping off his face and body. The sun had brought out representatives of almost every section of the castle’s population. In the northern corner a group of linen washers scrubbed away, their arms red from effort - their pale blue skirts shivering in the soft breeze. To the left of them a cook seemed to be manoeuvring a large, dead animal, probably a boar, into a position that would facilitate gutting. In the western corner six of the castle guards stood smirking and guffawing at the three benay-gosa immediately in front of them. The women wore the standard red scarves denoting their role, and not much else. Red strips of material darted around their bodies like splashes of crimson paint,