Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘And what is the nature of this disagreement?’ Janessa said, aiming her question at the Lord Marshal.

‘I intend to make a gesture,’ replied Tannick. ‘I don’t mean to sit behind our walls and wait for the Khurtas to come screaming at us from the north without bloodying their noses first.’

‘You intend to take the fight to them?’ From what little Janessa knew of warfare, this sounded like suicide, even to her.

‘I do. My cavalry will charge them on the field, cut them down where they stand. The armies of the Free States have not scored one victory over this horde yet. Showing the defenders on the walls that these bastards bleed and die like any other man will only serve us well.’

‘It’s bloody madness,’ said Marshal Farren. General Hawke nodded his agreement. ‘And a waste of men, if you ask me. If you want to commit suicide, Ryder, feel free, but the men of the Wyvern Guard would be better placed on the wall.’

‘It’s fortunate no one’s asking you then, isn’t it?’ Tannick replied.

Farren rounded on him. ‘It’s not just me, you mad bastard.’ He pointed at Duke Bannon, and Janessa saw the doubt in the old man’s eyes. ‘Ask him. Go on, see if he thinks it’s a good idea.’

‘Enough,’ Janessa demanded, feeling some sense of pleasure when her generals stopped their squabbling and turned to her expectantly.

She looked at them, standing there ready to obey her every word. When first she had met them Janessa had been fearful, unsure of what to do or say. Now there was no doubt in her mind these men were hers to command.

And it was clear she had a decision to make. A choice that would result in one of her generals losing face. Then again, it was clear the time for tact was well and truly over.

‘I agree with Lord Marshal Tannick,’ she continued. ‘A gesture is indeed what’s needed. The Khurtas need to know what they are up against. That we have teeth, and will not merely cower behind our walls and wait for the end. I can think of none but the Wyvern Guard better suited to relay that message.’ She paused. No one argued. ‘Very well. I’m sure the rest of you have much to attend to. Set to it.’

Her war council bowed their assent, moving off as another fiery explosion cut the darkening sky.

Janessa turned to take it in, hearing a scream rise up from somewhere in the devastated streets, but she could not allow herself to be broken by it. Neither could she bring herself to feel sorrow for the Rafts and the people in it who would soon be made homeless or worse.

She had a city to save, and she could not allow herself to be distracted by compassion if she was to succeed. Janessa had allowed herself to be weak, had allowed her heart to rule her head and she had suffered for it. Now, all that remained deep inside her belly was a pit of dark where there should have been …

A child. There should be a child growing strong.

Janessa gripped the edge of the balustrade until her knuckles whitened, thinking of what she had lost and what would never be. Her child, River’s child, had been stillborn. Now she was empty, barren, and all she could think that might fill the space inside her would be the defeat of Amon Tugha. She thought of it, yearned for it, to the detriment of all else. It was the only thing that occupied her waking mind.

At first she had thought to save her city, her people, but now it was more than that. She wanted to defeat her enemy utterly. To stand against him and taste victory, even if it cost the lives of every soldier under her command. The thought was bitter to the taste, but no matter how she tried to persuade herself she was doing this for her people, she knew it was vengeance she really wanted.

A firm hand came to rest on top of hers as she gripped the parapet. Kaira stood by her, gazing at her, eyes calm, controlled, and Janessa felt the weight of her anger suddenly lift. The woman was Janessa’s sworn protector, but in recent days she had become so much more than that. A rock to which she clung in the storm that raged all around her.

‘Majesty, shall we?’ said Kaira, gesturing towards the stairwell.

Janessa nodded and they both made their way back inside. Without Kaira, Janessa had no idea how she would have coped. Her bodyguard had been a constant presence since the night Janessa had lost her child. Always by her side, day and night. Always strong, always steadfast. Janessa knew in the days to come she would need Kaira more than ever.

When she eventually entered her chamber, what awaited brought a rare smile to her lips.

‘The royal armourer has done well, Majesty,’ said Kaira, as Janessa stood and stared.

The armour she had commissioned days before had been left in her room atop a wooden stand. Even in the wan candlelight it glimmered, each plate seeming to melt into the next, the crown and crossed swords of Steelhaven emblazoned on the breastplate. There was no helm — Janessa had told the armoursmith she would have no need of one. She would wear her armour with her head high, her hair about her shoulders, her face visible to all. Janessa was to be a symbol, an icon, and the defenders of her city would see her, rally to her as she helped them defend the walls.

Absently she traced her finger across the emblem on the chest plate; her father’s seal. Thoughts of his past victories came to her, victories that ended when he rode off to face Amon Tugha. Somehow the immortal Elharim had managed to murder her father off the field of battle. That would not happen to his daughter. Janessa was determined the victory would be hers this time.

Beside the armour stand stood the Helsbayn. Janessa found her hand straying towards it. When her finger touched the cold steel of the pommel it tingled to the touch, as though the sword itself contained a daemon that only she could unleash. Ever since she had slain the sorcerer Azai Dravos with the blade it seemed to instil a vigour inside her. When she touched it for the briefest of moments the feelings of loss deep within her soul abated. She almost yearned to draw it from its scabbard, to march out alone and take the fight to Amon Tugha and all his minions.

‘You should rest, Majesty,’ Kaira said from behind her. ‘There will be little time for it in the coming days.’

Janessa did not turn around, but gripped the hilt of the Helsbayn, drawing strength from it.

‘The time for resting is over, Kaira,’ she replied, feeling a strange smile creep across her lips. ‘I think now it’s time for me to don my armour.’

Weeks ago, when Janessa had suggested it, Kaira thought bedecking her in armour was a foolish idea. Now as she looked at her ward, at the Queen of the Free States, she realised her mistake. Despite her stature Queen Janessa still cut an impressive figure. It did nothing to put Kaira’s mind at ease, though. The enemy was at the gates. There were undoubtedly some within the city who were still plotting to kill her. No mere suit of armour, no matter how finely crafted, could keep her safe from every knife in the dark that threatened.

‘How do I look?’ asked Janessa, glancing at herself in the mirror as though she stared at a different person.

You look like a fish out of water. You look scared half to death and I will have to watch over you like a hawk.

‘You look ready to lead your armies and defend your city, Majesty,’ Kaira replied. There was no need to speak her mind on this. The queen needed confidence, not the truth.

Janessa rested her hand on the pommel of the Helsbayn, that sword she now wielded with such assurance. But it was more than that. The blade seemed to instil a power in the girl, seemed to make her that much stronger, that much more capable. When Kaira had tried to lift the blade it had felt little more than a hunk of poorly fashioned metal. In the hands of the queen it sang.