Queen of Fire
Page 81
Vaelin turned to Alturk as the howl faded, finding him now on his feet, the defeated slump vanished from his shoulders, his gaze fierce with certainty. “I’ll need that,” he said, gesturing to the war club.
Vaelin glanced at Kiral, expecting her to voice an objection, but her expression was one of grim, if reluctant assent. “Wise Bear has some healing skill,” he told Alturk. “He can stitch your cuts.”
Alturk merely grunted. “Had I been sober, you would be dead now.”
Vaelin sighed the smallest laugh and tossed the war club into his hands. “I know.”
CHAPTER TWO
Reva
The Volarian was dying, she could see it; his skin hanging from the bones of his face like a desiccated mask, eyes dull with defeat and recent suffering. Nevertheless, he had told his tale in an unwavering voice, the tones clear and strong, a man of centuries-long experience in oratory. “The Empress will confront you with only a third of the fleet,” he said to the assembled captains of the Queen’s Host, called to council on her flagship. “After you have defeated them she expects you to sail into the Cut of Lokar. The full fleet will move from the south to cut you off. That is all I know.”
Reva watched as the Shield examined the detailed chart on the table. They had convened on the main deck of the Queen Lyrna, no cabin being large enough to accommodate so many. The sea was calmer today, though still fractious enough to make the boat that had carried her here pitch alarmingly, shipping water with every passing minute. Reva found life at sea not much to her liking, even after she overcame the initial bout of sea-sickness the confines of ship life were trying in the extreme, as was the recurrent ache whenever her thoughts strayed to Veliss and Ellese.
“The Cut of Lokar.” Ell-Nestra’s voice brought her back to the present as he tapped an inlet on the Volarian coast. “The only direct sea-route to Volar. Once we sail in there they could bottle us up with comparatively few ships. Numbers won’t matter for much in such close confines. Plus it’ll be an easy matter for them to garrison the north and south banks against a landing.”
“This new Empress of theirs sets an elegant trap,” Count Marven said with a note of reluctant admiration. “Sadly, it seems she’s no Tokrev.”
“An overcomplicated ruse,” the queen responded, her voice uncoloured by any respect. “I doubt she’s ever played keschet.” She turned to the Shield. “Your advice, Fleet Lord Ell-Nestra?”
“Fighting a needless battle is never a good option,” he replied, his gaze still roaming the map. “Especially at sea where so much is dependent on chance. And manoeuvring a fleet so heavily laden with troops will prove arduous to say the least. I suggest we simply avoid the enemy, taking a north-eastern course to land here.” He tapped a shallow bay a hundred miles north of the Cut of Lokar. “Some of my captains have done a little smuggling on these shores and tell me the beach here is large enough to accommodate at least a fifth of the army at one landing. With the bulk of Volarian forces securing the banks of the Cut, they shouldn’t have more than a handful to oppose us. Once the army is landed the fleet will be free to deal with any threat to our supply lines.”
The queen turned to her Battle Lord. “Count Marven?”
“It will take three days at least to land the entire army, Highness. Whilst most Volarian forces will be concentrated to the south, we must still expect an attack of some kind from the local garrisons before being fully ready to march.”
“We could land farther north,” the Shield conceded with a sigh. “But the coast offers few other landing sites for at least another two hundred miles.”
“The greater the distance to Volar the lesser our chances of success,” the queen said, raising her eyes from the map to scan her captains, her gaze eventually coming to rest on Reva. “And we have one in our ranks who can be considered expert in fending off Volarian attacks.”
• • •
“In addition to your archers and guardsmen,” the queen said, “I will give you three regiments of Realm Guard, all veterans, including the Wolf Runners.”
“They will be very welcome, Highness,” Reva replied.
She had been called to the queen’s cabin for a private audience, the first time they had been truly alone. Even the hulking Lord Protector had been ordered to wait outside. Reva found herself once again struck by the queen’s beauty, even the faint white lines tracing back from her brow into the now-lustrous red-gold hair seemed to enhance rather than mar her perfection. More than that was the innate, effortless confidence, the peerless authority that ensured she commanded the attention of every set of eyes in any gathering. Despite this, or perhaps in part because of it, Reva had yet to feel the slightest flicker of attraction for her queen. She was easier to like when burnt, she decided. Now the mask is too perfect.
“Please know you are free to refuse this command,” the queen went on. “Without any disfavour.”
“We came here to finish this,” Reva said. “Besides, I think I’d rather fight on land than sea.”
“It’s certainly an acquired taste.” The queen smiled, though it wasn’t one of her dazzling wonders; a trifle wary in fact. “Before he left on his northern expedition, Lord Vaelin asked that I not allow you to expose yourself to inordinate risk. In fact, he implored me to leave you in the Realm, as regent.”
Reva suppressed a laugh. Always so keen to act the elder brother. “A task I’m hardly suited to, Highness. Although I have been meaning to ask for a clearer explanation of the intent behind Lord Vaelin’s current mission.”
“If secrets are kept, it is for a good reason. Suffice to say, the opportunities offered by his mission were too great to be ignored.” The queen paused, her smile slowly fading. “I have had occasion recently to read more detailed reports of events at Alltor. I hadn’t appreciated before how truly difficult the situation became, the extremes to which you were compelled.”
The Volarian’s face as he knelt at the block . . . No better than us . . . “Survival compels us to extremes, Highness.”
“Indeed. Words I should like you to remember when performing your task. This war is not yet won and the survival of our peoples requires victory, at any cost.” Her gaze was intent now, the flawless mask devoid of all humour. “You understand?”
At any cost. Looking into the queen’s unwavering gaze, Reva felt a sudden rush of recognition, her mind filling with another face she knew so well, one that had also often spoken in similar terms, usually in the moments before he beat her. “Perhaps if you could elaborate, Highness,” she said. “My task will be made easier with clear instruction.”
The queen’s gaze barely flickered. “The Varitai are to be captured only if opportunity arises. All Free Swords are to be killed.”
“And if they surrender?”
“Then killing them will be a simpler task.” The queen came forward, clasping her hands, her face now a picture of sisterly affection. “As you said, my lady, we came here to finish this.”
• • •
The Shield accompanied Reva back to the Marshal Smolen, one of the newly built monsters laden with her House Guard and a fifth of her archers. Ostensibly Ell-Nestra had come to oversee the landings though she sensed a sudden desire to remove himself from the queen’s company, perhaps due to the fate of the Volarian. Reva had been making ready to climb into her boat when she saw the man recoil from the queen, his sagging features suddenly white with shock. The queen stood regarding him with an expression of serene satisfaction as he launched himself at her, snarling, hands like claws as he reached for her throat. With practised swiftness the queen drew a dagger from her sleeve and drove it into the Volarian’s chest, a smooth unhesitant act performed before her guards could react.
“Throw this over the side,” she told Lord Iltis, accepting a cloth from Lady Murel and wiping the dagger clean as she turned away. However, the Volarian had somehow contrived to cling to life and continued to rage at her as the Lord Protector carried him to the rail, voicing shrill curses in his own language. The queen didn’t turn as he was cast into the ocean, striding towards Reva with the warmest farewell and good wishes for her venture.
“The man deserved his end, by all accounts,” she said to the Shield as they clambered from the boat, scaling the ropes to the ship’s deck. “Owner of countless slaves and a member of the Council that sent their army to invade the Realm.”
“She killed his son,” Ell-Nestra responded, his voice dull with grim understanding. “She wanted him to know before he died.”
“Our queen is fair, but her justice can be harsh.”
“She is your queen, my lady. My allegiance will end when this war is finally done.”
He strode off to find the ship’s captain whilst she briefed Lords Antesh and Arentes on the plan. “We are to be the vanguard of the army,” the guard commander said, stroking his moustache. “A singular honour.”
“And a singular risk,” Antesh pointed out, ever keen to advise caution in dealing with their monarch. During the march to Warnsclave Vaelin had related the full story of his previous association with her Lord of Archers, leaving her well aware of his once-fierce antipathy towards the entire notion of a Unified Realm. Although his fanaticism had clearly dissipated over the years he still retained a lingering suspicion of all things Asraelin, Queen Lyrna chief among them.
Vaelin glanced at Kiral, expecting her to voice an objection, but her expression was one of grim, if reluctant assent. “Wise Bear has some healing skill,” he told Alturk. “He can stitch your cuts.”
Alturk merely grunted. “Had I been sober, you would be dead now.”
Vaelin sighed the smallest laugh and tossed the war club into his hands. “I know.”
CHAPTER TWO
Reva
The Volarian was dying, she could see it; his skin hanging from the bones of his face like a desiccated mask, eyes dull with defeat and recent suffering. Nevertheless, he had told his tale in an unwavering voice, the tones clear and strong, a man of centuries-long experience in oratory. “The Empress will confront you with only a third of the fleet,” he said to the assembled captains of the Queen’s Host, called to council on her flagship. “After you have defeated them she expects you to sail into the Cut of Lokar. The full fleet will move from the south to cut you off. That is all I know.”
Reva watched as the Shield examined the detailed chart on the table. They had convened on the main deck of the Queen Lyrna, no cabin being large enough to accommodate so many. The sea was calmer today, though still fractious enough to make the boat that had carried her here pitch alarmingly, shipping water with every passing minute. Reva found life at sea not much to her liking, even after she overcame the initial bout of sea-sickness the confines of ship life were trying in the extreme, as was the recurrent ache whenever her thoughts strayed to Veliss and Ellese.
“The Cut of Lokar.” Ell-Nestra’s voice brought her back to the present as he tapped an inlet on the Volarian coast. “The only direct sea-route to Volar. Once we sail in there they could bottle us up with comparatively few ships. Numbers won’t matter for much in such close confines. Plus it’ll be an easy matter for them to garrison the north and south banks against a landing.”
“This new Empress of theirs sets an elegant trap,” Count Marven said with a note of reluctant admiration. “Sadly, it seems she’s no Tokrev.”
“An overcomplicated ruse,” the queen responded, her voice uncoloured by any respect. “I doubt she’s ever played keschet.” She turned to the Shield. “Your advice, Fleet Lord Ell-Nestra?”
“Fighting a needless battle is never a good option,” he replied, his gaze still roaming the map. “Especially at sea where so much is dependent on chance. And manoeuvring a fleet so heavily laden with troops will prove arduous to say the least. I suggest we simply avoid the enemy, taking a north-eastern course to land here.” He tapped a shallow bay a hundred miles north of the Cut of Lokar. “Some of my captains have done a little smuggling on these shores and tell me the beach here is large enough to accommodate at least a fifth of the army at one landing. With the bulk of Volarian forces securing the banks of the Cut, they shouldn’t have more than a handful to oppose us. Once the army is landed the fleet will be free to deal with any threat to our supply lines.”
The queen turned to her Battle Lord. “Count Marven?”
“It will take three days at least to land the entire army, Highness. Whilst most Volarian forces will be concentrated to the south, we must still expect an attack of some kind from the local garrisons before being fully ready to march.”
“We could land farther north,” the Shield conceded with a sigh. “But the coast offers few other landing sites for at least another two hundred miles.”
“The greater the distance to Volar the lesser our chances of success,” the queen said, raising her eyes from the map to scan her captains, her gaze eventually coming to rest on Reva. “And we have one in our ranks who can be considered expert in fending off Volarian attacks.”
• • •
“In addition to your archers and guardsmen,” the queen said, “I will give you three regiments of Realm Guard, all veterans, including the Wolf Runners.”
“They will be very welcome, Highness,” Reva replied.
She had been called to the queen’s cabin for a private audience, the first time they had been truly alone. Even the hulking Lord Protector had been ordered to wait outside. Reva found herself once again struck by the queen’s beauty, even the faint white lines tracing back from her brow into the now-lustrous red-gold hair seemed to enhance rather than mar her perfection. More than that was the innate, effortless confidence, the peerless authority that ensured she commanded the attention of every set of eyes in any gathering. Despite this, or perhaps in part because of it, Reva had yet to feel the slightest flicker of attraction for her queen. She was easier to like when burnt, she decided. Now the mask is too perfect.
“Please know you are free to refuse this command,” the queen went on. “Without any disfavour.”
“We came here to finish this,” Reva said. “Besides, I think I’d rather fight on land than sea.”
“It’s certainly an acquired taste.” The queen smiled, though it wasn’t one of her dazzling wonders; a trifle wary in fact. “Before he left on his northern expedition, Lord Vaelin asked that I not allow you to expose yourself to inordinate risk. In fact, he implored me to leave you in the Realm, as regent.”
Reva suppressed a laugh. Always so keen to act the elder brother. “A task I’m hardly suited to, Highness. Although I have been meaning to ask for a clearer explanation of the intent behind Lord Vaelin’s current mission.”
“If secrets are kept, it is for a good reason. Suffice to say, the opportunities offered by his mission were too great to be ignored.” The queen paused, her smile slowly fading. “I have had occasion recently to read more detailed reports of events at Alltor. I hadn’t appreciated before how truly difficult the situation became, the extremes to which you were compelled.”
The Volarian’s face as he knelt at the block . . . No better than us . . . “Survival compels us to extremes, Highness.”
“Indeed. Words I should like you to remember when performing your task. This war is not yet won and the survival of our peoples requires victory, at any cost.” Her gaze was intent now, the flawless mask devoid of all humour. “You understand?”
At any cost. Looking into the queen’s unwavering gaze, Reva felt a sudden rush of recognition, her mind filling with another face she knew so well, one that had also often spoken in similar terms, usually in the moments before he beat her. “Perhaps if you could elaborate, Highness,” she said. “My task will be made easier with clear instruction.”
The queen’s gaze barely flickered. “The Varitai are to be captured only if opportunity arises. All Free Swords are to be killed.”
“And if they surrender?”
“Then killing them will be a simpler task.” The queen came forward, clasping her hands, her face now a picture of sisterly affection. “As you said, my lady, we came here to finish this.”
• • •
The Shield accompanied Reva back to the Marshal Smolen, one of the newly built monsters laden with her House Guard and a fifth of her archers. Ostensibly Ell-Nestra had come to oversee the landings though she sensed a sudden desire to remove himself from the queen’s company, perhaps due to the fate of the Volarian. Reva had been making ready to climb into her boat when she saw the man recoil from the queen, his sagging features suddenly white with shock. The queen stood regarding him with an expression of serene satisfaction as he launched himself at her, snarling, hands like claws as he reached for her throat. With practised swiftness the queen drew a dagger from her sleeve and drove it into the Volarian’s chest, a smooth unhesitant act performed before her guards could react.
“Throw this over the side,” she told Lord Iltis, accepting a cloth from Lady Murel and wiping the dagger clean as she turned away. However, the Volarian had somehow contrived to cling to life and continued to rage at her as the Lord Protector carried him to the rail, voicing shrill curses in his own language. The queen didn’t turn as he was cast into the ocean, striding towards Reva with the warmest farewell and good wishes for her venture.
“The man deserved his end, by all accounts,” she said to the Shield as they clambered from the boat, scaling the ropes to the ship’s deck. “Owner of countless slaves and a member of the Council that sent their army to invade the Realm.”
“She killed his son,” Ell-Nestra responded, his voice dull with grim understanding. “She wanted him to know before he died.”
“Our queen is fair, but her justice can be harsh.”
“She is your queen, my lady. My allegiance will end when this war is finally done.”
He strode off to find the ship’s captain whilst she briefed Lords Antesh and Arentes on the plan. “We are to be the vanguard of the army,” the guard commander said, stroking his moustache. “A singular honour.”
“And a singular risk,” Antesh pointed out, ever keen to advise caution in dealing with their monarch. During the march to Warnsclave Vaelin had related the full story of his previous association with her Lord of Archers, leaving her well aware of his once-fierce antipathy towards the entire notion of a Unified Realm. Although his fanaticism had clearly dissipated over the years he still retained a lingering suspicion of all things Asraelin, Queen Lyrna chief among them.
