Fireblade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Romance (A Dance of Fire and Shadow Book 3)
Fireblade: Chapter 1

PALE DAWN LIGHT OUTLINES the russet cliff face above me and the night-chilled air is eating into my bones. Eldrin chainmail may be light and supple and protective but it draws in the cold like a thin blanket of ice clinging to my body, even with the silk shirt and leather tunic underneath.

From the little I learned from traders whose caravans passed through my village before this savage war wrecked everything, I thought Annubia would be scorching-hot and dry. I think longingly of the warm wolfskin cloak I left behind outside Corinium’s city walls before sneaking into the palace for my disastrous assassination attempt.

But I failed. The tyrant who ruthlessly conquered Samaran still lives. The Rapathian military still controls my country. My sister is still enslaved for the pleasure of the invaders’ wealthy elite. The man I love is still bound to break his oath to the Eldrin, reclaim his royal birthright and lead a bloody battle for freedom as warlord to a host of dangerous Blade adepts.

Thousands will die unless my next attempt on the Usurper’s life succeeds.

The half healed slash along my arm aches with the stab of anger and self-recrimination that runs through me as I contemplate my dismal failure. How could I have let myself get so easily distracted by mere words? I know it was not only because the Usurper knew how to manipulate my distrust of the Shadowblade who had sworn to fight at my side. The sinister power behind the Emperor’s poisonous voice comes from Nagal, the corrupted Elemental working with him––and I have to learn how to resist it.

That is why I now find myself far from my own country with little idea how to find the new knowledge and skill I so desperately need.

The Blade is standing in the gloom of the massive rock overhang, watching me. A cloud of deeper shade seems to follow him––or else it is simply the effect of those great black leathery wings folded around him like a cloak of darkness. His mood has not improved since I failed to carry out his deadly plan. He turns to me, derision edging his words.

“Ariel, soon you will remember the cold of these mountains with desperate longing. When you reach the plains the sun will burn your skin and dry out your body in the desert heat. Then you will gasp for cool water and see nothing but sand-mirages.”

For one apprehensive moment I wonder if he can read my thoughts, now the binding between us is complete––before I remember that I am shivering and my discomfort is all too obvious.

“So why are we up here in the freezing cold? You could have flown anywhere in Annubia. There is no reason to be halfway up a mountain.”

“I need time to work out what I should do with you.”

Maybe I’m getting used to his evasions now, learning to read between the fragments of information. He does not lie, but he is deceptively selective with the truth.

He wants to avoid the desert heat. Ice and shadow are the source of his power and what is waiting in the deserts of this sun-scorched country will limit his strength. I experiment with a sly taunt to see if he reacts.

“So. If you don’t want to spend time in the heat, you had better tell me where to go next. Seems like I shall have to do all this without you.”

There it is. That momentary flicker of irritation that shows he has accidently revealed a weakness. As if he believes I am only bound to him by fear instead of my obligation to everyone who is relying on me. Well, not exactly relying on me, more the fearful strength and skill I have acquired from this deadly binding with him.

Maybe I can extract more information if I push him a bit harder.

“Shadow, if you want me to train as a Nishan assassin, find out where in Annubia Shan’domir is, and at least get me as close to him as you can. I can ask him for acceptance into the Order of Assassins and then I’ll do the rest on my own. When I was fighting the invaders back in Samaran I didn’t need you standing behind me the whole time.”

We both know that is not entirely true. The only reason I’m still alive is because I asked for his help in the battle of the Northlands. He glares at me from the shadows the cloud of raven black hair casts around his pale face.

Maybe best not to provoke him too much.

Elementals don’t seem to live by the same rules and reactions as humans and I haven’t yet learned enough about them to know how far I can stretch his tolerance. Just because we share the same enemies at the moment does not necessarily make me immune to his unpredictable nature.

Grudgingly, he takes out a small bowl and fills it from the trickle of water running down the corner behind this rocky ledge. That is probably another reason he hates the desert. He would be blind to so much distant activity without his scrying mirror.

He stares at the water in silence for a few minutes until impatience makes me seize my chance, never mind if I am seriously pushing my luck now.

“Show me where Marin is first.”

Another irritated glare. But maybe he figures that helping Marin is the main part of my motivation, because he moves the bowl across so that I can see the surface of the water.

The vision is not very clear on such a small surface area but there is enough to see Marin desperately fighting against a raiding party of fifty Rapathian soldiers who are attacking a village. Deris and Nem are at his side but there are barely fifteen more Eldrin warriors at his back. The handsome contours of Marin’s face are taut with strain and exhaustion. The Eldrin must be stretched to their limit already and my heart aches for the danger Marin is in. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Marin once told me that Ashur Purmut the Usurper pays his soldiers by sending them out, one division at a time, to raid their new conquests for anything they can steal. Including slaves. I have seen for myself how it happens. The sight and stench of my devastated village after my sister was captured will never leave me. So many reasons to complete this training with the Nishan and get back to Samaran to end this nightmare.

Soon.

I make sure to keep my voice calm and grateful.

“Thank you, Shadow. Now please find Shan’domir.”

He draws the bowl close and turns away into the rock shadows, as if that might help him see more clearly.

“He is in Khotann. Find him and learn the skills you have so unfortunately been lacking. I will return when you are ready.”

I ignore his derisive tone. Arguing is pointless.

“I assume you won’t want to show yourself to the city’s inhabitants, so tell me what I need to know about Khotann before you abandon me on the outskirts.”

“You will not like it. The city is the last oasis before the Taskana desert. The name, Taskana, means to die alone.”

I don’t ask any more questions. I think I would rather get answers from Shan’domir when I find him. I only met the trader-spy once before he returned to his homeland carrying letters from Marin and the King, Samaran’s petition to the Khalim for an alliance between Samaran and Annubia.

The fact that Shan’domir succeeded so quickly suggests that he must have enough influence with Annubia’s all-powerful ruler to be granted a royal audience on request. I have to trust that he knows the path I should take now. And that he has the means to make it happen.

“Khotann and the lonely desert sound quite delightful. I can’t wait.”

All I get is a blank stare. Unlikely that Elementals appreciate sarcasm. I scramble to my feet, glad that the waiting is over and this sun-scorched foreign city will at least feel warm for the first few minutes.

Before I start to notice that it is really far too hot.

The disorienting blur is becoming familiar, my surroundings fading into misty shadow as Shadow grips my waist and his dark wings fold around me. A few more sudden relocations like this and I might even feel confident of being able to land in the middle of a battle fully alert and able to fight.

To my relief there is no need for defensive moves this time as he sets me down outside the massive red-gold bastion of city walls, concealed from the gate guards by a cluster of thorn bushes.

He points to the gate. “You will find Shan’domir at the Hawk and Scorpion.”

“Which is what? An alehouse? A name like that wouldn’t attract many customers in my village back in Samaran.”

“Something like that.” He gives a dismissive flap of a pale hand. “I have other business to attend to, but I shall be watching you from afar. You would be wise not to stray from the path I have set before you.”

“While we have the same objectives there isn’t much chance of that. Just bear in mind that circumstances often change and adaptability can be useful.” I turn and walk away before he can issue direct orders that I probably won’t want to follow. After a moment’s pause I feel the cold air of his departure ghosting shivers across my back.

I know he is using me to wreak revenge on his old enemy Nagal, just as I am using him to free my country, but I am determined not to slip into the habit of doing his bidding without question. I have an uneasy feeling that the corruption and cruelty of the Rapathian Emperor and his infernal Elemental might be the result of their close association in pursuit of power.

Somehow I have to find a way to avoid the same thing happening to me, although I’m not encouraged by the stories of how Blade adepts become ruthless murderers soon after taking on his gift of skill and strength. I have already made several of my own bloody excursions into the dark side of this power. Each time, my potential as a weapon to save my country has been the only factor earning my reprieve from the mandated death sentence Samarian law demands for Blade adepts.

The morning is still young but there is already a queue of people and carts on the dusty road, waiting to get through the city gate. I have no way of knowing if this is normal or if the heightened security is because Annubia is now at war with Rapathia on its western border.

Allies or not, I have an uneasy feeling that the gate guards might look suspiciously on someone trying to get into the city while kitted out in a mailshirt and bristling with weapons. Eldrin gear is the opposite of showy, with a focus on efficiency and speed, but anyone with a military background is going to notice that it looks, well, very efficient.

I sidle up to one of the peasants driving a cart toward the gate. Or rather, cursing the tired-looking donkey pulling it. I rehearse the few words I will need for this exchange, wishing I had paid more attention to the Annubian traders passing through Caerlen, back when village life was predictable and peaceful.

In the event, the small silver piece I’m offering and my exaggerated shiver to illustrate my halting Annubian for ‘The nights here are too cold’, seem to make my desire to buy his worn cloak convincing enough. Or maybe his careful analysis was simply pushed aside by his enthusiasm to make the most of someone dumb or desperate enough to offer three times what the garment is worth.

I fall into step behind one of the merchant carts with the thin cloak draped over my shoulders, reducing my appearance to a shapeless bundle. It has the same slits along the sides as peasant’s cloaks in Samaran, allowing the wearer to slip both arms through and tie the folds around the waist with a piece of cord. Useful when the wearer is chopping wood or loading donkey carts––or in my case making sure it doesn’t get brushed aside and reveal my weapons.

The guards are not being too meticulous in their checking and I slink through the portal in the wake of the overloaded wagon.

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