Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Lyrna felt the seduction of it sweep through her, the power of it, the knowledge that these few hundred wounded souls would die for her in an instant. She was on the verge of surrendering to it completely when something gave her pause, a single face not stricken in adoration. Lord Nortah stood beside his horse, running a hand over the head of the great cat crouched at his side, his faint look of disgust now replaced with one of deep and obvious disapproval.

She met with Brother Caenis in the evening, alone since Vaelin seemed keen to avoid his former brother, an attitude shared by many in the armyʼs ranks. Even Orena, who struck Lyrna as a woman of great practicality, had begged leave for an early night rather than remain to greet the brotherʼs arrival. Fear of the Dark does not fade in an instant, Lyrna concluded.

The newly revealed brother of the Seventh Order sat at stiff attention on a camp-stool, refusing the offer of refreshment with a polite shake of his head. For all his evident hardiness and renown as a warrior there was a definite timidity to this compact, war-hardened man, a shift in his eyes as if wary of attack at any moment. So long living in the shadows, she thought. The light of day can be as frightening as the Dark.

“My brothers and sisters ask me to offer thanks, Highness,” he said. “For your consideration.”

“A queen has care for all her subjects, my lord.”

“If it please you, Highness. My preference is to be addressed as ‘brother.ʼ I am a man of the Faith in all things.”

“As you wish.” Lyrna reached for the scroll he had handed her on arrival, a complete list of his Orderʼs members and their various gifts. “You have a brother who can see the past?”

“Brother Lucinʼs gift is limited, Highness. His vision confined only to whatever location he finds himself in.”

Lyrna nodded, frowning at the next description on the list. “And this Sister Merial can truly pull lightning from the air?”

“Not exactly, Highness. She can exude a power, an energy from her hands. In darkness or shadow it can seem like lightning. The gift is very draining, fatal if over-used.”

“Can she kill with it?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod.

“Then she and her gift are greatly welcome in this army.” Lyrna read through the rest of the list, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I find there is one name missing, brother.”

His discomfort visibly deepened but his gaze remained steady and his tone held no note of compromise. “My gift cannot be revealed, Highness. By strict order of my Aspect.”

She was tempted to remind him the Faith was subject to the Crown, but decided against it. There is too much of use in what he brings me. And this is not a good time for conflict with the Faith, especially when they continue to hide so much.

“I spent so many years in search of your kind,” she said, putting the list aside. “Even risking death in the mountains to seek evidence of your existence. And yet it seems all I had to do was await the tide of history and I would be deluged with more evidence than I could ever wish.”

Brother Caenis confined his reply to a cautious nod, his gaze averted as she continued, “It must have been difficult, living in concealment for so long. Lying to your brothers for years on end.”

“The Faith required it, Highness. I had no choice in the matter. But yes, it was a hard duty.”

“Lord Vaelin tells me you were the most loyal subject my father could ever wish for. That your enthusiasm for the desert war was great. So much so he thought your heart broken when it all came to naught.”

“Aspect Grealin was very precise in the role he wished me to play. My devotion to the Faith was so strong he felt it best masked as devotion to the King. But my brother was right, my enthusiasm for the war was true, inflamed by my Aspect who told me it was the key to securing the future of the Faith. For reasons of his own, he didnʼt tell me how that security would be achieved, or my brotherʼs fate. I always thought Aspect Grealinʼs reasoning to be infallible, he never steered me to the wrong course, he never made mistakes.”

“Have you heard from him, since the capital fell?”

“Sadly no, Highness.” Caenis lowered his head, his voice dulling with sorrow. “Brother Lernial has a facility for hearing the thoughts of those he has met, even over great distances. We know the Aspect had taken refuge in the Urlish with a band of free fighters, the details are vague since Lernialʼs gift is limited. At Alltor he took a wound to the head, waking two days later with a great scream. I hoped his words no more than a symptom of a damaged mind, but he has healed much since and his gift tells him there are no more thoughts to be heard from Aspect Grealin.”

Seeing the brotherʼs evident grief, she reached out to clasp his hand. “My commiserations, brother.”

He stirred in discomfort, forcing a smile. Does he fear me? One of the names on his list apparently had some facility for peering into the future and she wondered what revelations Caenis might be privy to, recalling Lord Nortahʼs grim visage and Wisdomʼs words from the first day on the march. I know full well what it means.

“During Brother Harlickʼs questioning,” she said, moving back. “The Volarian woman we took at Alltor spoke of an Ally. Lord Vaelin seems to think you may be able to elaborate on her meaning.”

“Brother Harlick has already told you all we know, Highness. It resides in the Beyond and plots our destruction. We know not why.”

“If it exists in the place beyond death, does not that suppose it was once alive? It was once a man, or a woman?”

“It does, Highness. But as yet no member of any Order has divined how it came to be what it is, nor what malign agency could have twisted it into such evil.”

“There must be records, ancient texts describing its origin.”

“The Third Order has spent centuries gathering the oldest words written by human hand, paying considerable sums for scraps of parchment or shards of clay. The Ally is there, but only ever as a shadow, unexplained catastrophe or murder committed at the behest of a dark and vengeful spirit. Sorting truth from myth is often a fruitless task.”

His words stirred her faultless memory, calling forth a line from Lord Verniersʼ Cantos of Gold and Dust: Truth is the scholarʼs greatest weapon, but often also his doom. She decided a private audience with the Alpiran chronicler was overdue.

“Am I to assume,” she said to Caenis, “that your Order now requires a new Aspect?”

“There are formalities to the choosing, as you know, Highness. Until such time as a conclave can be convened, my Order remains without an Aspect. However, my brothers and sisters have affirmed their willingness to accede to my leadership in the interim.” His gaze became steady again. “Which brings me to another matter.”

“The people from the Reaches.”

“Indeed, Highness. My Order has lost many brothers and sisters in this war. Our ranks grow thin.”

“And you would take these others into the Order, against their loud objections? Lord Vaelin has been very clear on their thoughts in this regard. They follow him, not you.”

“My Order is the shield of the Gifted. Without us they would all have perished generations ago.”

“And yet, you continued to hide yourselves for decades whilst they faced discovery and death at the hands of the Fourth Order.”

“A necessary subterfuge. Most of us are discovered at an early age, Gifted children born to Gifted parents and long-time members of the Order. Not all are so fortunate, or grow to be kind of heart or immune to greed. For all our power, we have human souls like any other. Before Aspect Tendrisʼs ascension those Gifted found by the Fourth Order would be judged to see if they were suitable for inclusion within our ranks. Whether they joined us or not was their choice.”