Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Liarʼs sweatʼs gotta sting to it,” the plump woman advised. “Beyond us but Blacknose here smells it well enough.”

She extended her hand and the rat trotted over to her, jumping into her arms and settling into a contented huddle.

The Dark, Alucius thought. How delighted Lyrna would have been to see this. He forced the thought away; remembrance of Lyrna was painful and likely to provoke distracting grief at a time when he should be focused on continued survival. “Who are you people?” he asked the young woman.

She stared back in silence for a moment then raised her left hand, the fingers flat and level. She blinked and one of the darts rose from the table, hovering no more than an inch from her index finger. “Ask another question,” she said. “And this goes in your eye.”

“Can we move this along, sister?” the guardsman said in a strained voice. “This oneʼs mind is easily clouded but I canʼt do it forever.”

The young woman blinked again and the dart slowly descended to the table. She clasped her hands together, her eyes unwavering from Alucius. “Aspect Elera sent you?”

“Yes.”

“What is her condition?”

“She resides in the Blackhold. Unharmed, save a raw ankle and sore need of a bath.”

“What did she tell you of us?”

“That you had wine.” Alucius risked a glance around the chamber. “Iʼm guessing she lied about that.”

“She did,” the young woman replied. “We also have scant food or water remaining and our forays into the city above yield us nothing.”

“I can bring food. Medicine too, should you need it. I assume that was her true purpose in sending me…” He paused to draw breath. “In sending me to the Seventh Order.”

The young woman angled her head, mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. “You speak of legends, poet.”

“Oh, what difference do it make now?” the plump woman said, moving to stand behind her sister. “Youʼve got the right of it, yʼlordship. Iʼm Sister Inehla, sheʼs Sister Cresia, and that over there is Brother Rhelkin. All that remains of the Seventh Order in this fair city.”

Alucius gestured at their surroundings. “And this place?”

“Once a temple to the Orders,” Sister Cresia replied. “Built before such frippery was expunged from the Faith. Our brothers in the Sixth Order found it some years ago, a hide for criminals, subsequently put to better purpose.”

Alucius turned to obtain a better view of Twenty-Seven and Brother Rhelkin, noting the strain on the guardsmanʼs face as the slave continued to move his sword as if through treacle. “What is he doing to him?”

“Making him see what he needs him to see,” Cresia said. “Weʼve found itʼs their principal weakness, those like him and his less deadly cousins. Minds so empty are easily clouded. He thinks heʼs fighting a horde of assassins, come to spill your blood. Brother Rhelkin can also control the speed of the vision, making it last an hour or a second.”

“But not,” Rhelkin added through gritted teeth, “forever.”

Alucius turned back to Cresia. “Food and water,” he said. “What else do you need?”

“News of the war would be welcome.”

“The Volarian fleet sent to the Meldenean Isles suffered some form of calamitous defeat. Tokrev is poised to take Alltor and Darnel has ridden out with his knights to hunt down the Red Brother.”

“Lord Al Sorna?”

Alucius shook his head. “No word as yet.”

Cresia sighed and rose from the table. “When will you return?”

“Two days, if you can wait that long. Gathering extra provisions without raising suspicion takes time.”

She nodded at Twenty-Seven. “Should we kill this one?”

“His only task is to protect me or kill me should I step outside the city. In all other regards he is blind and dumb.”

She nodded. “Iʼm trusting you because Aspect Elera would not have sent you without reason.” She opened a pouch at her belt and the darts on the table rose to balance on their blunt ends before arching into the pouch in a precise sequence, making Alucius smile at the elegant impossibility of it.

“The night the city fell,” Cresia added. “I lost count of the men I killed with these, and other things besides. I bled myself white with killing and would have died if my sister hadnʼt found me and brought me here. Know well, poet, if you abuse our trust, Iʼll drain every drop of blood in my body to kill you.”

He found his father at the gate to the North Road, deep in counsel with the Volarian Division Commander as a battalion of Free Swords laboured to dig a deep ditch behind the wall.

“Lamp oil?” the Volarian was asking as Alucius approached, halting at a respectful distance, though still close enough to hear their discussion.

“As much as you can gather,” Lakrhil Al Hestian replied. “Enough to fill this ditch from end to end.”

The Volarian looked at the map spread out before them, scanning the lines depicting the walls and the country beyond. Alucius indulged some faint hope the man had enough arrogance to disregard his fatherʼs counsel, but sadly, he again proved himself no fool. “Very well,” he said. “Have you chosen where to site the engines?”

Aluciusʼs father pointed to several points on the map as the Volarian nodded approval. “However,” Lakrhil said, “I will of course need engines to site.”

“They will be here in thirty days,” the Division Commander assured him. “Together with a thousand Varitai and three hundred more Kuritai. The Council has not abandoned us.”

If Lakrhil Al Hestian took any comfort from the manʼs words, he failed to show it. “An army can travel far in thirty days,” he said. “Especially an army fuelled by love of a resurrected queen.”

Alucius stifled his gasp lest it draw the Volarianʼs anger, his heart hammering worse than in the darkness below the ruined inn. She lives?

Mirvek straightened, fixing his father with a hard glare. “A lie told by cowards seeking to excuse failure,” he stated in unequivocal tones. “And thatʼs what youʼll tell your king when he returns. Whoever leads this rabble is not your queen.”

His father replied only with the slightest of nods. Alucius had yet to see him bow to any Volarian. The Division Commander gave him a final glare and turned to march away, his aides scurrying to keep up. Alucius approached his father with his heart still pounding. “Queen?” he asked.

“So itʼs said.” Al Hestian didnʼt look up from the map. “Restored to life, and apparently beauty by Dark means. If itʼs really her. Iʼd not put it past Al Sorna to find a double somewhere and make her a figurehead.”

Vaelin too? And if he comes, then so too does Alornis. “What of Tokrev? Alltor?”

“Killed and saved. A messenger arrived from Warnsclave this morning. It seems every man in Tokrevʼs army lies slaughtered and a great army marches north at the word of a Dark-blessed queen. My son, it seems you are shortly to be provided an ending to your poem.”

Alucius took a breath, turning from the map to look at the Free Swords labouring in the ditch. “Arenʼt ditches normally dug outside the walls?”

“They are,” his father replied. “And if time allows, Iʼll dig one there too, for the sake of appearances. The real defence is here.” He tapped the map with the barbed spike protruding from his right sleeve and Alucius saw an intricate web of black lines tracing through the maze of streets, streets that no longer existed. “A series of barriers, choke points, fire traps and so on. Al Sornaʼs cunning enough, but he canʼt work miracles. This city will be his armyʼs grave.”

“My lord,” Alucius spoke softly, moving to his fatherʼs side. “I beg you…”