Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Should do thirty miles or more a day on this,” Count Marven said with a satisfied grin, stamping a boot to the brick surface. “More when the rain lifts.”

“Be sure to scout all approaches,” Lyrna said. She was reluctant to tell her Battle Lord his business but Al Hestianʼs counsel had instilled a lingering caution. They were certain to meet the enemy somewhere along this road; the only question was in what strength.

“Of course, Highness.”

The rain finally began to abate three days later, revealing a pleasing landscape of rolling hills and broad valleys, lush with grass and little sign of habitation save the occasional small villa, all of which proved empty of occupants.

“All livestock slaughtered and crops burnt,” Brother Sollis reported two days later. He had led his brothers on a wide-ranging reconnaissance in force, finding no sign of the enemy but ample evidence their approach had been detected. “All wells spoiled with carcasses. A few bodies here and there, mostly old people, slaves by the look of them.”

“Was there ever a more vile race than this?” Lord Adal said, shaking his head. He had taken the North Guard south on a similar mission, returning with equally grim tidings.

“So,” Lyrna said, “we have no forage.”

“Our existing supplies should last us to Volar, Highness,” Brother Hollun advised. “Where no doubt we will find more, once our… business is concluded.”

“If I might enquire, Highness,” Lord Nortah said, “as to the exact nature of our business in Volar.”

Lyrna met his gaze, finding his usual willingness to return the scrutiny in full measure. “We will exact justice for the wrongs visited upon the Realm,” she said. “And ensure they will not be repeated.”

“Yes, as you have stated before. However, I should like to know how this justice will be administered. Do you intend to hold trials, perhaps?”

“I donʼt recall any trials at Alltor,” Lord Antesh said, regarding the Lord Marshal with a harsh glower. “And I know there were none at Varinshold.” He rarely spoke at council and kept to his own troops when on the march. The Cumbraelins had taken on a uniformly grim demeanour since the loss of Lady Reva, along with her aged guard commander and so many of their countrymen. Whenever she toured their ranks Lyrna found herself greeted with curt nods or barely concealed resentment; she had sent their Blessed Lady to her death, and they knew it. However, any anger they might have felt towards their queen was greatly outshone by their burning hatred for the Volarians, birthed at Alltor and a thousand other nameless atrocities, now stoked to greater heights by a feral hunger for retribution. Lady Reva had been their link to the Fatherʼs love and guidance, surely He would bless all efforts to avenge her passing.

“There were no trials at Alltor,” Lord Nortah returned, “because the Volarians are a disgusting, pestilent race raised in cruelty and murder. We, on the other hand, imagine ourselves a people of reason and compassion, or are our virtues to be cast aside now?”

“Courage and fortitude are equal virtues,” Baron Banders pointed out. “Our people look to us to secure their future. It wonʼt be done with a soft heart.”

“I have journeyed the length of the Reaches and the Realm,” Nortah said. “Taking more lives in the space of a few months than I did in all my years in the Order. I have led my regiment through battle, fire and hardship because I thought it just and right… and my wife told me it was necessary. But I do not wish to look into her eyes when she beholds a man who took part in wholesale murder.”

He turned to Aspect Caenis, whose eyes remained fixed on the map, unwilling to meet his brotherʼs gaze. “And you, brother? Are you content for the Faith to be stained with innocent blood?”

The Aspect didnʼt reply immediately, lowering his head for a momentʼs silent contemplation. When he finally opened his eyes and spoke, his tone was regretful but also certain. “The Empress and her empire are merely tools for a greater enemy. We all know this, though often we dare not speak of it. Knowing the nature of this enemy, I see the only path to his defeat in employing all measures at our disposal. If that makes us murderers, then I accept the name and the guilt. For if we fail, brother, there will be no wife for you to return to.”

“I cannot believe the path to victory lies in staining our souls so black we become indistinguishable from those we fight.” Nortah looked to Brother Sollis, voice strained now. “Master? Surely you see the Faith compels us to a more reasoned course. The Order has always sought to defend the defenceless.”

“And to preserve the Faithful,” Sollis replied, his tone no less certain than the Aspectʼs. “Should we fail here, the whole world may fall to ruin. The Faith gave its support to the queenʼs course in full knowledge of the import of this mission. We cannot afford virtue now, brother.”

“And I,” Antesh grated, face flushing red, “did not come to these shores to leave the greatest soul in Cumbraelin history unavenged.”

“Vengeance is not justice!” Nortahʼs fists thumped the table as he leaned forward. “And if Lord Vaelin were here…”

“He is not,” Lyrna stated, her voice soft but implacable. “I am here. And I am your queen, my lord.”

She watched the Lord Marshal master himself, knowing he was fighting to keep unwise words from his lips. Of all of us, she thought, he stands immune from the lure of vengeance. The realisation stirred a flare of envy, a yearning for a part of her lost somewhere amongst the flames.

“You are a good man, Lord Nortah,” she told him. “The Realm is enriched by your service. And so I give you my word as your queen that this army will do all it can to spare innocent blood. But, be assured that when we reach Volar I will see it destroyed down to the last fragment of stone and the earth salted so that nothing grows amidst the ruins. If you have no stomach for this course, you are free to resign your command and depart without disfavour.”

Lord Nortah lowered his head, teeth gritted as he hissed a sigh. “No innocent blood,” he said, head still lowered. “You promise me?”

Lord Iltis bridled with a growl, “The Queenʼs Word is given, and not for you to question, my lord.”

Nortahʼs head came up, his eyes blazing at the Lord Protector for a second before casting his gaze around the other captains. Lyrna wondered if he thought himself the only sane man in an army of maddened souls. As his gaze settled on her, he spoke again, his voice the flat, precise promise of a very dangerous man, “Your word may not be for me to question, Highness, but I will hold you to it nonetheless.”

Another week of marching took them from the pleasing hill country and into a broad dusty plain, its only feature of interest a long river stretching away east in a winding course roughly parallel to the road. “At least we wonʼt be taken unawares,” Count Marven commented, peering at the barren vista. “You couldnʼt hide a single horse out here.”

The following day saw a dim, jagged shape appear on the haze-covered horizon, resolving into a strange sprawling building adorned with multiple tall spires. It sat in a wide bend in the river, the size of a small town, but absent any dwellings. Instead it consisted of a series of pyramidal structures arranged in a spiral, all topped with towers of ascending height, the tallest rising to at least two hundred feet.

“A fortress?” Benten wondered as they closed to within a half mile of the building.

“No defensive walls,” Iltis said. “And no one to hold them if there were.”

There was no sign of any response to their approach, the varied structures devoid of light and movement. Lyrna turned at the sound of a galloping horse, finding Wisdom reining in at her side. Lyrna had left Arrow back in the Realm, unwilling to subject her to the possibly deadly discomforts of the ocean crossing, and discovered her new mount wandering near the dunes when they landed. It was a handsome stallion with a coat of pure black, so finely bred Lyrna wondered if it hadnʼt carried the Empress to the shore the day she crafted her storm. She named him Jet in honour of his colouring.