Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

The Lonak girl stepped to Frentisʼs side, bow drawn, and sent another arrow into the womanʼs neck, folding her body onto the sand. Frentis watched the girl move closer and deliver a hard kick to the corpse, eyes narrowed as she scanned her for the slightest sign of life. She glanced at Frentis, frowning at what she saw on his face. “The song was clear,” she said.

He heard a faint moan behind him and turned, seeing Weaver gently taking hold of the man lying slumped in the sand and guiding him into a seating position. The Politai stood around them, spears levelled at the Ally. “There is a great sickness in you,” Weaver said. “Let me help.”

The Allyʼs senses seemed to return as Weaver drew him into a tight embrace, struggling feebly then throwing his head back to issue a scream.

Despite the stubbiness of his fingers Raulen had a fine, flowing script the equal of any scribe. Also, his reading voice was similarly accomplished, reciting my recently dictated words in even tones free of any stumbles. “‘… and so it came to pass that Queen Lyrna Al Nieren walked once more on the soil of her beloved homeland,ʼ” he read. “‘And terrible would be her vengeance.ʼ”

“Very good, Raulen,” I said. “I think thatʼs enough for today.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He rose from the stool and went to the cell door. “Same time tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow my trial begins,” I reminded him.

“Yes,” he sighed, pausing at the door and forcing a smile. “No doubt this great work will be complete when your innocence is proved.”

“No doubt.” I returned the smile, grateful for his artifice.

“Even your gaolers are scholars,” Fornella observed after the heavy door had slammed shut, leaving us alone. She sat on her narrow bunk, surrounded by bundles of parchment. With little else to occupy her during the long months of our shared captivity, she had taken on the translating of my manuscript into Volarian, despite full knowledge it would most likely remain unfinished.

My gaze tracked over her now almost all-white hair, tied back from her face into a tight bun. In recent weeks the skin on her scalp and hands had developed faint red spots and the lines around her eyes grew ever deeper, though she bore it all without complaint. Despite the many messages I asked Raulen to convey to every Imperial official I could recall, she had never once been allowed out of this cell to relate the warning she held. Our journey was indeed an abject failure and it seemed the survival of this empire now depended entirely on Queen Lyrnaʼs vengeful designs. An absurd hope, I knew. For all her wits, and Al Sornaʼs martial cunning, the Volarian Empire was monstrous. It requires an empire to destroy an empire, I concluded, reaching for pen and parchment to write it down.

“Something to aid your defence, I hope,” Fornella said, glancing up from her own work.

“I have no defence, save the truth. And that will avail me nothing now.” The Empress, in her wisdom and benevolence, had sent no less than six learned counsel to act on my behalf at trial. All experienced legal scholars of impeccable reputation and, I saw clearly in their faces, absolutely no hope or expectation of securing my acquittal. I had listened to them all politely before releasing them from their duty with an assertion I would be conducting my own defence, much to their evident relief.

“The girl was lying,” Fornella went on. “The blindest fool can see that.”

“And were I to be judged by a jury of blind fools, I might have a chance. But there will be but one juror, and she is far from blind. However, even she cannot deny my right to speak following conviction. I can only hope there are ears to hear the warning.”

Despite my continued calm, a calm that I confess still baffles me, sleep eluded me that night. I had spent the evening arranging my manuscript and penning an outline for Raulen regarding the completion of the final chapters. He had agreed to take copies to a select few scholars of my prior acquaintance, though I harboured suspicions that those who didnʼt immediately burn it might seek to claim it as their own work. Another copy would be conveyed to Brother Harlick in Varinshold, where at least it would receive a home in the Great Library he hoped to rebuild. As the small, barred window above my bed grew dark I took a quill and scrawled the words “A History of the Unified Realm” on a blank sheet of parchment, a little chagrined that my script wasnʼt near so elegant as Raulenʼs, and placed it atop the neatly arranged bundle.

I lay back on my bunk seeking rest I knew would elude me and pondering a particular point of scholarly regret. I never heard Al Sornaʼs full account.

Somewhere past midnight, my half doze was interrupted by a faint creaking sound. I rose, blinking in the gloom and feeling my heartbeat lurch at the sight of the cell door slowly swinging open.

She decided not to wait for a trial, I concluded as my perennial calm dissolved and I cast about desperately for some kind of weapon. However Raulen was too diligent a gaoler to allow a prisoner any implement beyond the small wooden candlestick I wrote by.

I expected Hevren, or more likely some anonymous Imperial servant suitably skilled in crafting convincing suicide from murder. Instead the door swung open to reveal a slender form in a black dress, her eyes wide and fearful as she beckoned to me with desperate urgency. Jervia.

For a second I could only stare in amazement as she continued to beckon, her movements becoming frantic, then I swung myself off the bunk, dressing quickly and moving to Fornella. Over the weeks she had slept more soundly than I, either through the rapid onset of age or a salved conscience. In either case it took several attempts to wake her and several more to coax her from the bed.

“Why is she here?” she whispered, a deep frown on her wrinkled brow as she regarded Jervia fidgeting in the corridor.

“I donʼt know,” I said, returning to my bunk to pull on my shoes. “However, we are provided with an open door, and I intend to use it.”

Jervia put a hand over my mouth as I came to the doorway, forestalling my whispered questions, moving away and gesturing for me to follow. I glanced back at Fornella, now dressed but no less suspicious. “Iʼm not sure I can run,” she murmured, coming to my side and taking my hand.

I led her along the corridor, past the other cells, all empty I noted, to where Jervia waited at the barred gate. I came to a rigid halt at the sight of Raulen, standing aside and holding the gate open.

“Itʼs all right,” Jervia whispered. “He doesnʼt see us.”

I stepped closer to the gaoler, taking in the sight of his features, the eyes focused but not on me, a fond smile on his lips; the face of a man viewing a long-cherished sight.

“You did this,” I murmured to Jervia, sliding past Raulenʼs bulk to come to her side.