Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“The Empress is mad but not foolish,” Frentis said. “She may well have anticipated the move. We could find ourselves facing a fortified shore.”

“Which is why a third of our ships, those not laden with troops, will linger outside the harbour come the dawn, giving every appearance of being about to make an assault. With luck the Empress will concentrate her forces there.”

“They could sally out,” the Asraelin captain pointed out. “Seek to break the fleet in two before we land.”

“Thanks to Lady Alornisʼs marvellous devices,” Ell-Nurin replied, “and our considerable advantage in numbers, Iʼm certain we can contain any sallies they might attempt.” He turned to Frentis. “Brother, I leave it to you to decide the order of landing.”

Frentis nodded. “My own people first. The Politai next. Master Karavekʼs people last.”

“Want the glory all to yourself, eh, brother?” Karavek asked, though not without a note of relief.

Ell-Nurin straightened, lifting his chin and gazing off to the east. “My lords, Captains of the Fleet and honoured allies, come the new day we will have struck a deathblow to this most vile of empires. For we come with justice in our hearts and freedom in our souls. Let all who sail with us know, destiny awaits and will not be denied.”

Ell-Nurin held his pose, seemingly expectant of some response, a hearty cheer perhaps. After a moment, as the silence stretched and thickened, he coughed. “To your duties, lords and sirs.”

“What an arse,” Draker muttered as he and Frentis made their way below. “We truly have to take orders from him, brother?”

“Arse he may be, fool he isnʼt. The plan is sound. Make sure the others know that.”

Draker nodded and began to move away, then paused. “Always wondered, brother. Whatʼs my rank?”

“Rank?”

“Yeh. Youʼre a Brother, Illianʼs a Sister, the arse is a Fleet Lord. What am I?”

“You can be a sergeant, if you like.”

Drakerʼs bushy brows bunched in disappointment. “Got more folk answering to me than any sergeant I ever saw. Over two hundred of the buggers at last count.”

“Captain then. Captain Draker of the Queenʼs Free Company. Howʼs that sound?”

“Sounds like itʼd earn a pension.”

Frentis sighed a laugh. “I expect it will.”

Draker smiled, though his voice held a sombre note as he said, “Sorry for the beatings, brother. If I never said before. I was drunk the whole time, see? Donʼt think I had a sober day till Varinshold fell.”

“It was a long time ago, Captain. See to your company, if you would.”

He sought out Sister Merial, finding her in company with a pipe near the stern, the sweet-smelling smoke escaping through an arrow-slit in the hull. “Meldeneans can always be counted on for some prime Alpiran five-leaf,” she said, offering him the pipe. “Been over a year since I had a toke on anything this fine.”

He declined with a raised hand. “Any word from your husband?”

“Indeed.” She took a deep draw, blinking with watery eyes, her gaze losing focus. “Think I mightʼve been a bit too generous with meself, brother.”

“Any word?” he repeated as she patted her chest and coughed a little.

“The queen won another victory,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “Becoming a bit of a habit with her. Battle of the Flowers theyʼre callinʼ it, donʼt know why. In any case the road to Volar was open as of this morning. They should get there within two days.”

He nodded, thoughts clouded with visions of Lady Reva in the arena, and more besides. Bring the healer…

He had resumed taking Brother Kehlanʼs sleeping draught in New Kethia, keen to avoid any more shared dreams, wary of what they might reveal to her, though it also robbed him of any clues as to her intentions. Doesnʼt care if I bring my army. Seems indifferent to the queenʼs approach. What does she plot now?

“Weʼre landinʼ first, I take it,” Sister Merial said.

“My company is. You will remain on the ship.”

“A dogʼs fart I will. Sailed half the world for this, and Aspect Caenis deserves a reckoning.”

“You are skilled in arms?”

She gave a short laugh and returned to her pipe, twiddling her fingers at him with a grin. “Youʼll see what Iʼm skilled at, brother. Just donʼt stand too close when you do.”

Brokevʼs Notch was formed of a small bay flanked by craggy bluffs. Beyond the beach the ground rose in a steep incline to the redflower fields beyond. The sun was only just beginning to glimmer on the horizon and the promise of poor weather had manifested as a light morning drizzle.

“Even a handful of enemies on those heights, Redbrother,” Lekran said with a grimace. “And this bay will become a slaughter-house.”

Frentis said nothing, keeping his gaze on the cliff-tops as the boat neared the shore. It was low tide and the surf was negligible, the oarsmen heaving away at a high tempo regardless of noise; speed was more important than stealth now. He could see no sign of any movement on the bluffs, nor the ground beyond the beach.

“Remember,” he told Lekran. “Do not linger for a second, regardless of loss.”

He had placed the Garisai in the leading boats along with all their archers, Draker and Illianʼs people following behind with orders to secure the bluffs. Master Rensial had opted to accompany him, probably in hopes of finding a horse as quickly as possible.

Frentis leapt clear at the sound of the boatʼs hull scraping on the sand, sinking into the water up to his knees and immediately labouring towards the beach. In accordance with their orders the archers spread out with arrows already notched and bows raised, constantly scanning the bluffs for any sign of an enemy. The Garisai churned the tide-water into a white froth as they charged with Frentis, all making it onto the sand untroubled by the telltale hiss of an arrow storm or shouts of alarm.

Frentis permitted no pause on the beach, running across to the grassy slope and halting only on reaching the top. The Garisai immediately assumed a defensive formation though there was no sign of any opposition. The fields, rendered a dull shade of crimson by the morning gloom, stretched away silent and unmarred by a single living soul. Off to the west he could see the rising sun playing on towers ascending from the redflower like silver pins in a vast red blanket.

“Volar,” Lekran said in an oddly reverent tone. “All those years a slave to this empire, and this is the first time Iʼve ever laid eyes on it.”

And perhaps the last, Frentis mused. There may be nothing left when the queen gets done. The thought stirred memories of the grey-clad girl and her mother and he shifted his gaze to the beach in search of a distraction. Draker and Illianʼs people were already ashore and in the process of splitting up to make for the bluffs. The Politai were fast approaching the beach, Weaverʼs curly-haired form visible in the lead boat. Bring the healer…

“This smells wrong,” Ivelda said, scanning the poppy fields with a suspicious squint. “Not even a scout to greet us. Where are they?”

Frentis watched as Volarʼs sprawling suburbs were revealed by the burgeoning sun. No walls to fight our way over, but a house can be made a fortress easily enough. “I suspect weʼll have an answer within the hour.”

They found the first body two miles on from the bay, a boy of about fifteen lying amidst the flowers, grey-clad and barely two hours gone by Frentisʼs reckoning. He had been killed with a single thrust to the back, probably from horseback judging by the angle.

“Three more here,” Ivelda said from nearby. “Man, woman and child. Someone killed a family.”