Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Whatʼs these poxed whoresons doing alive, brother?” Draker had demanded of Frentis earlier, the prisoners within earshot and moving in a restless shudder. “Traitors to the Realm, ainʼt they?”

“They yielded according to custom,” Ermund told him, not without a note of regret. “The baron will decide their fate.”

“Best keep ʼem away from us on the march,” Draker muttered darkly before stomping off to do some more looting.

Banders had extracted enough information from the captured knights to reveal the depth of Darnelʼs current delusions. “Rebuilding the palace, making himself a king,” he said, shaking his head. “Iʼm given to wonder if the Volarians havenʼt put some Dark spell on him, stripping away all reason.”

“It was always there, Father,” Lady Ulice said quietly. “This madness. I remember it well enough. As a girl I mistook it for passion, love even. And it may well have been, but love for himself, bound only by his fatherʼs will. With Fief Lord Theros gone he feels himself free, able to fly at last.”

“Weʼll have to hope his unreason leaves him deaf to Al Hestianʼs counsel,” Banders said. “Taking Varinshold by stealth may well be impossible now and all he need do is wait behind its walls whilst his allies conclude their business in Cumbrael.”

“I should still like to attempt the sewers, my lord,” Frentis said. “Alone if necessary.”

This drew some odd glances from the assembled captains, Sollisʼs gaze particularly grave in its intensity. Frentis knew his freshly lightened soul showed on his face but the wolfʼs gift was a cherished thing and he saw little reason to hide it. You must forgive yourself.

“Iʼll… be sure to bear that in mind, brother,” Banders assured him with the kind of tight smile Frentis recognised. The smile you offer to one you think mad.

“We stand barely a few miles from the Nilsaelin border,” Lord Furel said. “A pause here to rest and await word from my messengers might be the best course. Reinforcements could well be marching to our side as we speak. At the very least some word will be coming from the Reaches.”

Banders looked at Sollis with a questioning eye. “Iʼll send my brothers out in all directions,” the Brother Commander said. “If thereʼs word to be had within fifty miles of here, weʼll have it within two days.”

Banders nodded. “Very well. We camp here. Brother Frentis, you come under your brotherʼs word, not mine, but I think we are of like mind in saying your visit to Varinshold will have to wait.”

Frentis shrugged, bowing with an affable grin. “As my lord wishes.” His smile lingered as he made his way back to his tent, the unease he had felt at the very sight of his bedroll now vanished. A dreamless sleep, he thought, pulling off his boots and lying back on the blanket. I wonder how itʼll feel.

She watches them fight with cold detachment, assessing skill and speed as they dance in the pit below. Steely echoes rebound from the walls that surround her, the stone roof above coarse and free of decoration, for these are new pits, chiselled out far below the streets of Volar, the birthplace of long-gestated children.

Do you like them, beloved? she asks him, knowing he sees them, keen to engage his interest, hungry in fact to hear a single word from across the gulf that divides them. We learned so much from you.

The men in the pit below fight without restraint and die without screams. But their faces are not those of Kuritai, no blank automata here. These men grimace in pain and snarl in fury, register grim satisfaction at bloody victory. There are at least a hundred in the pit, moving with all the fluency of those bred to the fight.

Give a dog too tight a leash, she thinks, and it chokes. And however much you whip it, it will always be a dog. But these, beloved. She smiles down at the men in the pit. These are lions.

She turns away, moving along a stone walkway to a narrow door. The sounds of combat follow her as she walks; the tunnel is long and dark but she has walked here before and has no need of torches. The chamber she comes to is broad and high, tiered walkways rising on both sides allowing access to rows of cells, each sealed with bars of iron. She pauses and lets her song wander, feeling the dulled fears emanating from each of the cells. Drugs are widely employed by the overseers who service these cells, but still the fear always lingers. Her song alights on a cell on the middle tier to the left. The note is harsh, sombre, stirring a hunger.

She is momentarily troubled by this. Usually the song chooses an innocent, some pale-faced youth stolen from a slaughtered hill tribe or identified by the overseers in the training dens. She had liked to play the benefactor, the kindly mistress come to offer them deliverance from this place of endless fear, enjoying the desperate hope in their eyes, even granting them the mercy of a swift death by way of reward.

Now it is different. The song speaks of a loathsome soul and itʼs this that stirs her hunger. Was this you, beloved? she asks him. Did you change me so much? Despite her unease she knows this shell must be sustained, the Messenger having related how quickly a stolen shell can sicken, the demands of multiple gifts drain them so. She starts for the nearby stairwell but pauses as two Kuritai approach, dragging a red-clad figure between them and providing a welcome distraction.

“Council-man Lorvek,” she greets the red-clad. “Itʼs been so very long. Iʼm glad to see the years have not withered you one bit.”

The red-clad appears to be a man in his mid-thirties, though she first met him some eighty years ago when he first rose to Council, in this very chamber in fact. He had been triumphant then, she recalls, preening with satisfaction at having secured fabled immortality. Now he just seems to be what he is, a scared man, cowed by torture and expectant of death.

“I…” he begins, swallows, a faint trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. “I… humbly regret any offence caused to the Ally or his servants…”

“Oh, there you go again, Lorvek,” she says, shaking her head with a sad smile. “Always saying the wrong thing. What was it you called me that day in Council, oh, twenty years ago? You remember, the day I came back from my excursion to the realm of the slant-eyed pig?”

Lorvek hangs his head, summoning the will to plead further. “I… I said… unwise words…”

“Murderous whore to a pestilent phantom.” She takes hold of his hair and pulls his head up. “Yes, that was unwise. And now you call me a servant. I do wonder how you ever rose so high with such poor judgement. After everything the Ally has given you.”

A wave of weariness sweeps through him and his eyes grow dim for a second. She assumes he has exhausted his ability to beg, but then he draws breath, a light coming back into his eyes as he spits blood into her face. “The Council will not stand for this, you vile bitch!” he hisses.

“Evidence of corruption is hard to ignore,” she tells him, finding a glimmer of admiration for this final flare of courage. “Iʼm afraid the vote was unanimous. Besides…” She moves closer, whispering, “Just between the two of us, the Council wonʼt have to stand for anything soon.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and steps back.

“Back there,” she tells the Kuritai, jerking her head at the tunnel leading to the pits. “Give him a sword and throw him in. Tell the overseer I want to know how long he lasts.”

He screams as they drag him away, more defiance, dwindling again into contrite pleas as they enter the tunnel and his voice fades. She summons the song once more, seeking out the cell with the dark note and making for the stairs.