Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Fornella paused, her lips forming a wry smile, though her eyes betrayed a sadness I hadnʼt seen before. “But it was not a normal life. For our young general stayed young, whilst his fellow officers grew old and withered around him, he stayed young.”

“He was the first,” I said.

“Indeed. The first Volarian blessed by the Allyʼs voice, or, I assume, the first he sent one of his creatures to seduce. But his gifts didnʼt end with the secret of binding slaves so completely they would fight and die at their mastersʼ command. No, he had more to offer, the greatest gift of all. It was from him the Council learned the secret of endless life, at the Allyʼs behest of course. And, over time, they all made themselves its creatures. The general became the Allyʼs voice on the Council, speaking softly at first, guiding rather than commanding, hinting at the great task it had chosen for the empire. Although, as the years passed, the generalʼs behaviour became ever more erratic.

“My mother said she met him once, at a feast held in his honour. My family is, as you may understand, vastly wealthy and has held a Council Seat since the empireʼs earliest days. I asked my mother what he was like and she laughed, ‘Quite dreadfully mad,ʼ she said, ‘though I hear his daughter is worse.ʼ”

“His daughter?” I asked.

Fornella pulled her woollen shawl tighter about her shoulders, the sadness fading into fearful remembrance. “Yes, a daughter. I met her too, once. One meeting was more than sufficient.”

“Are they like you? The general and his daughter, do they still live?”

“The generalʼs madness grew with the centuries, his hunger for victory over the Alpirans becoming a madmanʼs obsession, birthing a calamitous defeat. The Council, by now all recipients of the Blessing and advised by the Allyʼs other lieutenants that the generalʼs glorious career should reach a conclusion, employed their chief assassin to provide one. If what the queen says is true, however, she may well have met her end alongside King Malcius.”

“The generalʼs daughter? She killed her own father?”

“Sheʼs taken countless lives the breadth of this world, my lord. If weʼre fortunate, sheʼll plague us no more. But I increasingly find fortune to be a rare commodity.”

“Does your mother still live? Did she also take the Allyʼs Blessing?”

She shook her head, raising her gaze to meet mine, smiling fondly. “No. She grew old and she died, though I begged her to join me in this new age of limitless life. She alone knew the true nature of the bargain we had struck, though none would listen to her. She knew what drew the Ally, if not what had birthed it.”

“And what is it? What draws it?”

“Power. Thatʼs how the first were chosen, not those with the greatest wealth, but those with the most influence, the greatest sway in Council. Because it happened over decades rather than years, only one being chosen to receive his bounteous gift in every dozen years, it seemed the choosing was random, the whim of a being as close to a god as any could be. But my mother lived long enough to see the pattern. Every bargain struck increased its hold on us, every gift bestowed made us more its servants.

“She said just one word the last time I was permitted near her, before she ordered me barred from her house. She was nearly ninety years in age, just a tiny collection of bone and skin in a very large bed. But her mind had never faded and her eyes were so very bright, and though she could only speak in whispers, I heard it, clear and true, though at the time I thought it just the final croak of a bitter old woman.”

She fell silent, gazing off towards the southern horizon where a heavy cloud bank could be seen, signalling an uncomfortable night, not that I expected to sleep much lying by her side. There was more grey in her hair now, I saw, watching it swirl in the wind.

“Just one word,” she said in a faint voice. “‘Slave.ʼ”

As I had predicted, sleep proved elusive. The sea grew turbulent come nightfall, the wind rising to lash the clouded glass of the porthole with rain and howl through the myriad channels in the fabric of this ship. Fornella lay on her back, breathing slow and regular. I lay on my side, turned towards the hull. I had removed my shoes but was otherwise fully clad whilst she was naked, sloughing off her clothes without the slightest flicker of embarrassment, slipping into the bed beside me as I turned my back. We lay in silence for the better part of an hour, robbed of rest by the wind and the sheer oddness of our circumstance.

Finally, she said, “Do you hate me, my lord?”

“Hatred requires passion,” I replied.

“Ah, The Cantos of Gold and Dust , verse twenty. Donʼt you think it a trifle conceited to constantly quote your own work?”

“The verse was drawn from an ancient ode sung by the tribes of the western mountains. As noted in my introduction.”

She gave a soft laugh. “So I do not stir your passion? Hardly surprising, given your preferences. Still, a woman accustomed to male admiration canʼt help but feel somewhat slighted.” I felt her shift behind me, moving to lie on her side. “Who was he? The man you said you loved?”

“I will not discuss that with you.”

Something in my tone must have held sufficient warning because she gave a sigh of amused frustration before persisting. “I may have something to stir your passion, at least as far as it relates to your lust for knowledge. A small nugget of information concerning the Ally.”

I gritted my teeth, hard, wondering if I didnʼt in fact hate her after all. I sat up, turning to find her regarding me with head tilted on her pillow, the gloom sufficient to hide all but the gleam of her eyes. “Then tell me,” I said.

“The name,” she insisted.

I rose, turning my back to swing my legs off the bed. “Seliesen Maxtor Aluran,” I said.

I had expected laughter, cruel and mocking, but instead her tone was calmly reflective. “The Hope of the Alpiran Empire, slain by the very man who destroyed my darling husbandʼs army. My people do not hold to notions of fate, the concept of invisible forces moving to shape our destiny is anathema to a people cleansed of superstition. But there are times when I wonder…”

I felt her shift again, her warm nakedness pressing against my back, resting her head against my shoulder. There was no desire in the way she held to me, at least none I could sense, just a need for closeness. “My sorrow for your loss, honoured sir,” she said in formal Alpiran. “My brother is the longest serving member of the Volarian High Council, so he knows the Allyʼs schemes better than most, and even he is blind to their true nature, their ultimate purpose. However, its servants have often spoken of a man, endless in years like us, but not in thrall to the blood of the Gifted. A man who has lived many lifetimes and walked around the world more than once. The Ally is drawn to power, as I said, and what greater power is there, than the defeat of death itself?”

“It seeks him?”

“Indeed, but never has it found him.”

“And he has a name, this endless man?”

“A thousand, changed with every lifetime as he passes from nation to nation. One of the Allyʼs creatures, the one they call the Messenger, caught his scent some fifteen years ago in the Unified Realm. He was calling himself Erlin.”