Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Winterfall Eve,” Brother Lernial said in his perennially dull voice. He had said almost nothing since arriving with the Eorhil woman the day before, slumping in front of a fire and staring at the flames for hours. Insha ka Forna stayed at his side, her gaze continually drawn in expectation.

“The Seventh Order,” Ivern said, watching with Frentis from the fringes of the gathered captains, his face a mix of confusion and suspicion. “Hiding in the Realm Guard. And where else, one wonders.”

“Aspect Grealin gave the impression they had many guises,” Frentis said.

“Grealin.” Ivern shook his head. “Just how many lies did they tell us, do you think?”

“Enough to keep us safe.” Frentis straightened as Brother Lernial said something and Insha ka Forna raised a hand to beckon him over.

“What happens on Winterfall Eve?” Banders asked the brother.

“Varinshold.” Lernial frowned in concentration, a vein pulsing in his temple and sweat beading his brow. “Lord Al Sorna attacks Varinshold. Something… something will happen.”

“Al Sornaʼs army is in Warnsclave,” Banders said. “How could he make such an attack?”

Lernial gave a pained grunt, arching his back and exhaling slowly, then slumping forward, features slack with exhaustion. “Thatʼs all,” he muttered.

“There must be more,” Banders persisted, drawing a glower from Insha ka Forna.

“Leave him!” she said. “This… hurts him, much.”

“You can hear Lord Vaelinʼs thoughts?” Frentis asked Lernial in a gentler tone.

The brother shook his head. “Brother Caenis only. Itʼs… easier that way.” He gave a wan smile. “But to wade through even the most disciplined mind is a tiring task.”

Frentis nodded his thanks and rose from the manʼs side, moving away to confer with Banders and Sollis. “Three days until Winterfall Eve,” the baron said. “Scant time for planning. Iʼve had my lot fell the few trees around here for ladders and engines, but none are ready yet.”

“Which makes the sewers our only option,” Frentis said. “We know from Darnelʼs knights that Aspects Elera and Dendrish are in the Blackhold, perhaps Aspect Arlyn too. I donʼt give much for their chances if the city is attacked. I can secure them if youʼll allow me.”

“Securing a gate is more important,” Sollis said.

“The Aspects…”

“Are aware that the Faith occasionally requires sacrifice. We will secure a gate to allow Baron Bandersʼs knights into the city, then make for the Blackhold.”

“We, brother?”

Sollisʼs pale gaze was steady, yielding no room for argument. “Brother, you have led your company well, and they are loyal to you. But your loyalty is to me. Or are you no longer willing to call yourself a brother?”

“I will never call myself anything else,” Frentis returned, anger rising to colour his face.

Sollis merely blinked and turned to the baron. “Weʼll set out at dawn, which should enable us to approach the city under dark in three nights.” He looked at Frentis. “Choose your people and be ready.”

They followed the Brinewash towards Varinshold, moving in single file along the bank, which was damp enough to prevent any betraying dust cloud. Frentis chose Davoka, Draker and Thirty-Four to accompany him through the sewers, provoking Arendil and Illian to loud protests at being excluded. Davoka sternly rebuked the lady for her petulance, and Banders refused to even countenance the thought of Arendil leaving his sight. “Youʼll stay by me at all times,” he told his grandson. “If this goes right, the fief will have need of a new lord by the weekʼs end.”

They stopped after a two-day trek, occupying a shallow dip in the ground just south of the Brinewash, Varinshold out of sight just over the horizon. Sollisʼs brothers scouted the surrounding country, mostly grass and expanses of ash left by the demise of the Urlish. They returned at nightfall reporting the Volarians seemed to have abandoned patrolling. “Could be theyʼve no cavalry left for such duty,” Ermund suggested. “We killed hundreds back at the Spur.”

They settled down to rest as night set in, huddling in cloaks against the chill as fires could not be risked. Frentis sat watching the others sleep, determined to stay awake, as he had for the past two nights, fighting exhaustion with every step. At one point he had snapped awake finding himself held in the saddle by Davoka, shaking his head at her stern entreaties to rest come the night. She waits for me there, he knew with a cold certainty.

“Will it end tomorrow, brother?” It was Illian, sitting a few feet away, swaddled in a cloak taken from a dead Volarian at the Spur. It covered her easily, leaving only the pale oval of her face peering out from the hood.

So young, Frentis thought. So small. You would never know, as no one knew when they looked at her. Annoyed by the comparison, he looked away. “Will what end?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“The war,” she said, shuffling closer. “Draker said itʼll all be over come the new day.” She gave a rueful smile. “Then he said heʼd buy a whorehouse with his spoils.”

“I doubt there are any left to buy, my lady.”

“But weʼll be done? The war will end?”

“I hope so.”

She seemed oddly deflated by this, a flicker of her increasingly rare pout on her lips. “No more Gorin ,” she murmured. “No more Davoka. Arendil will go off and rule his fief, Draker to his whorehouse, you to the Order.”

“And you, my lady?”

“I donʼt know. I have no idea if my father lives, if his house still stands.”

“And your mother?”

Illianʼs expression soured a little. “Father used to tell me she died when I was little. One day I heard two of the maids gossiping, seems my darling mother took off with a sea captain when I was no more than a year old. Father had every scrap of clothing she owned stripped from the house, along with every image of her. I donʼt even know what she looked like.”

“Not all are suited to parentage,” Frentis said, thinking of his own family, if they could be called that. “Whatever your fatherʼs fate, his lands and assets are now yours by right. I feel sure the queen will see to proper restitution in due course.”

“Restitution.” She looked around at the surrounding fields of ash, rendered silver-blue in the moonlight. “Is that even possible now? So much has been broken. Besides, Iʼm not sure I want to regain ownership of an empty ruin.”

“Arendil…” Frentis began in a cautious tone, “You seem… fond of him.”

She gave a soft sigh of embarrassed exasperation. “I am. Heʼs very sweet, and one day I expect Lady Ulice will find him a wife suited to fine dresses and balls and empty talk with privileged fools. I am not. Not now, if I ever was.” She wriggled in the folds of her cloak, hefting her crossbow, her hands tight on the stock. “Iʼm made for this. Iʼm made for the Order, brother.”

He could only stare at her completely serious expression. “There are no sisters of the Sixth Order,” he said, lost for any other response.

“Why not?”

“There just arenʼt. There never have been.”

“Because only men fight wars?” She nodded at Davoka. “What about her? What about me?”

He shifted uncomfortably, lowering his gaze. “The composition of the Orders is set down by the tenets of the Faith. They canʼt simply be cast aside…”

“They could if you were to vouch for me. Especially if Brother Sollis were to add his voice. Everything has changed, Iʼve heard you say so yourself.”