Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Lyrna turned at the sound of a multitude of voices at their rear, causing Iltis to wheel about with sword drawn. He calmed as the first Cumbraelin came into view. A well-built man, as many archers were, running with his bow across his back and hatchet in hand, pausing to offer her the briefest bow before running on, making for the unmistakable bulk of the arena, now only a half mile distant. He was quickly followed by hundreds more, the surrounding avenues filled with their panting prayers, the words “Blessed Lady” most frequent among them. Al Hestian couldnʼt hold them, she surmised. I hope he was wise enough not to try.

“I think weʼll have enough, sister,” she told Davoka, spurring Jet to a gallop.

The head stared down at her with sightless eyes, mouth slack and tongue lolling from between its teeth. It had been fixed on to the stump of the statueʼs neck with iron nails, hammered through bronze and flesh alike, streaks of dried blood covering the metal down to the plinth where the original head lay.

“These people are never short of horrors, it seems,” Iltis observed in a disgusted tone.

Lyrna guided Jet past the statue and on to the arena, the Cumbraelins now streaming through its arches. She had caught a glimpse of Lord Antesh urging them on before disappearing inside, but had no opportunity to impart any orders to him, not that she expected him to follow them now with the Blessed Lady so close.

She dismounted before the tallest arch and proceeded into the gloomy interior, shouts of combat echoing through the vaulted stairs and corridors as the Cumbraelins overcame any opposition. The Queenʼs Daggers spread out around her in a protective arc, Aspect Arlyn and Iltis both close on either side with swords drawn.

“If I may, Highness,” the Aspect said, pointing to a stairway nearby, leading down into the depths of this structure. Lyrna raised a questioning eyebrow and he went on, “The cages where the Garisai are kept. They may be of use.”

She nodded and gestured for him to proceed, following as he led the Daggers into the stairwell. The tumult of battle greeted her as she descended, emerging into a long rectangular chamber, lined on each side with cages. The Daggers and the Aspect were engaged in a struggle with a dozen Kuritai. The Aspect moved with the typical fluid grace of the Sixth Order, belying his years as he parried and spun in the melee, cutting down a Kuritai and blocking the blade of another who lunged at one of the Daggers. But the Kuritai were also fearsomely skilled and Lyrna forced down a surge of rage at the sight of yet more of her people falling to the blades of the slave-elite. I am just a queen.

She sent Iltis to join the struggle with a flick of her hand and looked around, her eyes alighting on a corpse lying nearby, a man of considerable girth with a stab wound to the chest, a gaoler judging by the keys dangling from his belt. She bent and tugged them free, going to the nearest cage and drawing up short at the sight of the occupant.

There was no smile on his lips now, no mischief in his eyes, his hair hung limp and greasy over a face devoid of all humour, or admiration. “So you see,” the Shield said, voice barely above a grunt, “you managed to put me in a cage after all.”

She said nothing, turning the key in the lock and hauling the cage open, standing aside with an impatient gesture as he lingered. He emerged slowly, casting a brief glance at the continuing struggle in the corridor, the Kuritai now reduced to three, backed up against the bars of the cages as hands reached from within to claw at them in desperate fury.

“This is the last war I fight for you,” the Shield said.

Lyrna tossed him the keys as the last of the Kuritai was brought down, moving to the stairwell and ascending without a backward glance.

“Kill her!” Lieza shrieked, thrashing in the Arisaiʼs grip. “Kill her and it ends!”

Revaʼs hand jerked in the sand, inching closer to the bow as if by its own volition, her eyes still fixed on the Empressʼs smiling face. “She makes a fair point,” she called. “With me gone this war is over, but she will still die and you will remember her end for a long time. Iʼve ordered them to spare you, for how could I harm my sister? Wouldnʼt you rather give her a quick death?”

Reva tore her gaze away, turning to Lieza, now sagging in the Arisaiʼs clutches, eyes imploring, her ragged breaths the only sound in the arena, the silence unbroken by the barest murmur as Revaʼs hand closed on the bow…

Something whined past her head and thudded into the sand next to the bow. An arrow, the fletching shuddering with the impact. Revaʼs gaze snapped up to the top tiers of the arena, finding a line of figures silhouetted there, each holding a bow. She groaned as her despair deepened. Varulekʼs Kuritai hadnʼt done their work after all. One of the archers raised his bow above his head and Reva squinted, finding something familiar in his bearing, the breadth of his shoulders reminding her of someone she knew, someone surely lost to the ocean. Her eyes went to his bow. It was long with a single elegant curve, so unlike the double-curved strongbows favoured by the Volarians.

Slowly she turned and lowered her gaze to the arrow buried in the sand. Swift-wing feathers, she saw, eyeing the fletching. A bird only seen in Cumbrael in the summer.

She raised her gaze to the Empress, and returned her smile.

She snatched up the bow and Varulekʼs arrow, pivoting to the left, notching and loosing in a single motion. One of the Arisai holding Lieza staggered back, staring at the arrow jutting from his chest in gasping amusement. The other immediately drew his sword, raising it to plunge into Liezaʼs back, then falling dead as Reva sent Anteshʼs arrow into his neck.

The air thrummed as she rose and sprinted towards Lieza, every Arisai in sight falling in unison as the arrow storm swept down. She skidded to a crouch at Liezaʼs side and pulled her upright. The girl gave a shout of alarm as an Arisai laboured towards them, teeth bared in a fierce smile as he struggled closer with arrows jutting from his shoulders and legs. Reva snatched another arrow from the sand and sent it into his eye from five paces, then grabbed Liezaʼs arm and pulled her towards the nearest doorway. The heavy iron-shod door was firmly locked but the stone arch at least offered some protection. She could see Varitai archers on the lower tiers, vainly trying to contest the longbowmen above as the crowd convulsed around them, people massing in dense, roiling throngs as they stampeded for the exits.

Then the arrow storm began to abate, slowly at first, but soon dwindling to nothing. Reva stepped out from the archway, scanning the upper tiers and finding them full of thrashing men, red and black amidst the grey-green of the Cumbraelins. Her gaze went to the door where the unfortunate Jarvek had entered the arena, finding it still open. “Come on,” she told Lieza, taking her hand and starting forward.

The Empress landed in their path and rolled into a fighting stance, short sword held low and regarding Reva with a stern frown of annoyance. “You spoiled my spectacle.”

Reva backed away, ushering Lieza behind her and casting about frantically for another arrow as the battle raged above.

“All my lessons,” the Empress said, dancing closer, sword held low. “All my generous tutelage, cast back in my face. I am very disappointed, little sister.”

She lunged and Reva rolled to the side, dragging Lieza with her, the blade missing by inches. She came to her feet and swung the bow like a club, aiming for the Empressʼs head. She ducked it easily, rounding on Reva with a disapproving scowl. “Our mother died with you inside her, as I lay abed and listened to her screams beyond the door. The Ally had told my father of the blessing, you see, and he was thirsty.”