Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“One manʼs lie is another manʼs truth.” The voice was frail, tremulous, but strong in conviction, spoken by an old man in a stained white robe. He sat alone, kept erect by a gnarled staff formed from an old tree branch, regarding Vaelin with a single bright blue eye, his other milky white.

“Aspect Korvan,” Elera said. “Last of the First Order.”

“The Departed are captured souls,” Vaelin told the old man. “Gifted ensnared in the Beyond by a being of vile purpose. Is that a lie?”

Aspect Korvan sighed, lowering his head in momentary weariness. “For five decades I was Master of Insight at the House of the First Order,” he said. “Today I find myself an Aspect, a title derived from the varied character of our Faith. And the Faith is but a reflection of what awaits us in the Beyond.”

“Iʼve been to the Beyond,” Vaelin returned. “Have you?”

The old manʼs hand twitched on his stick and he took a moment to answer. “Once, long ago. You are not the first to taste death and return, young man. The Beyond is a place that is not a place, both form and mist, endless and yet finite. It is a crystal formed of many facets and you have seen only one.”

“Perhaps,” Vaelin conceded. “And perhaps the Faith is but a fumbling attempt to understand a thing beyond understanding. But I saw enough to know that our enemy is not done, he wishes our end and will not stop. The queen sees the key to his defeat in striking at the heart of the empire he built to crush us. Be assured that the queenʼs intent is also mine.”

“Though it may lead us to ruin?” Dendrish asked.

“Ruin has already befallen us,” Vaelin replied. “Queen Lyrna offers a chance to avoid utter destruction.” He turned to Caenis with a questioning glance. “Are there no signs and portents to guide us, brother? No messages divined from the swirling mists of time?”

“Brother Caenis is now Aspect Caenis,” Elera said, somehow contriving to retain her smile.

“Congratulations,” Vaelin told him.

Caenisʼs lips formed a small smile and he got to his feet. “My brother knows well scrying is not an exact art,” he said. “And there are few left in our ranks with gifts capable of aiding us in this decision. I can only speak for my own Order, and I have already sworn us in service to the queenʼs purpose, regardless of where it might lead us.”

Vaelin turned at the scrape of a chair, finding Master Rensial on his feet. He stood casting his gaze around them for a few seconds, frowning in concentration. When he spoke his voice was free of any shrillness or quivering uncertainty. “They tortured me first,” he said. “But stopped when it became clear I could tell them nothing. They chained me to a wall and for four days I listened to my brothersʼ torment. The same question was asked, over and over, ‘Where are the Gifted?ʼ Through it all I heard no answers given.” His gaze lost focus again and he hugged himself tighter, sitting down once more, adding in a whisper, “Where is the boy? The forest is burning and the boy is gone.”

Sollis rose, placing a hand on the mad masterʼs shoulder as he continued to mutter to himself. “By assent of this conclave,” Sollis said. “I speak for my Order until Aspect Arlyn is recovered or proved dead. We will follow the queenʼs course.”

“As will the Fourth Order,” Brother Hollun stated.

Aspect Dendrish slumped into his seat, waving a plump hand in either dismissal or assent. It was Master Benril who spoke, standing to regard them with a grim visage. “War is ever the folly of the ignorant. But I have seen much to convince me some wars must be fought, to the bitterest end if need be. Our Order, such as it is, will support this endeavour.”

The Second Order was represented by a pair of sisters from their mission in Andurin, both tired from the journey and clearly overawed by the occasion. They apparently had no knowledge of their Aspectʼs fate though rumours told of all their brothers and sisters perishing when their House burned to rubble. They conferred for a second before the older of the two confirmed their agreement in a strained voice.

“Aspect?” Sollis asked Elera.

Her smile had faded completely now, her face, always so open and bright as to defy signs of age, now told of a tired woman of middling years with eyes that had seen too much. She stood in silence for some time, hands clasped together and face downcast. “So much has changed so quickly,” she said eventually. “So many certainties overthrown in the space of a few months. Lord Vaelin is right to speak of our past crimes, for we are guilty of grievous errors. I myself said nothing when my brightest pupil was taken to the Blackhold for speaking against the desert war. There is blood on our hands. But I fear what crimes await us should we take this course. Every day people come to my Order for healing but burning with a hatred I have not seen in all the troubled years to beset this Realm. When the queen takes them across the ocean, what manner of justice will she ordain?”

“I am Battle Lord of the Queenʼs Host,” Vaelin said. “And will allow no violence to be visited on those who do not raise arms to oppose us.”

She raised her gaze, smiling at him once more, but with something behind her eyes she hadnʼt shown him before: regret. I delivered you, she had told him once. Perhaps she wonders what she pulled into the world? “I will trust your word, Vaelin, as I always have.” She turned to the others, speaking formally. “The Fifth Order pledges to support the queenʼs course.”

He said farewell to Reva at the south gate, pulling her close to plant a kiss on the top of her head, finding himself both surprised and heartened when she returned the embrace. “No doubts?” he asked her as she drew back. “No hesitation in following the queenʼs orders?”

“Doubts I have aplenty,” she replied. “But thatʼs nothing new. At Alltor I saw enough to convince me this fight is to the death. They wonʼt stop, so neither can we.”

“And will your people see it that way?”

Her expression grew sombre, her tone soft with reluctant admission. “They will when they hear the Blessed Lady speak with the Fatherʼs voice.”

She mounted up and rode off with an escort of House Guards. Watching her go, he was struck by a sudden sense of loss, a knowledge he might never see her again.

“My lord.” He turned to find himself confronted with one of Lyrnaʼs ladies, the taller one with dark eyes, though her name escaped him. “The queen requests your presence at the palace.”

Her eyes flicked to the left, a slight frown of unease on her brow. He followed her gaze to where the Gifted folk from the Reaches had established themselves in a half-ruined wineshop. A couple of passing Realm Guard were recovering their composure, clearly victims of Lorkanʼs love of surprising the non-Gifted, the young man bowing in apparently sincere apology as Cara smothered a laugh in the background. Lorkan caught Vaelinʼs eye and gave a weak smile before turning and walking to a shadowed corner where he seemingly blinked out of existence.

He turned back to the lady, finding her narrow gaze still fixed on the shadow where Lorkan had disappeared. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, recapturing her attention. “I donʼt believe I know your name.”

“Orena, my lord.” She bowed again. “In truth, Lady Orena Al Vardrian, by the queenʼs good graces.”

“Vardrian? From south of Haeversvale?”

“My grandmother was from Haeversvale, my lord.”

He was about to inform her that they most likely shared some blood but the evident discomfort in the womanʼs face gave him pause. She clearly didnʼt relish the prospect of remaining so close to the Gifted and there was a tenseness to her demeanour that discouraged further conversation. “These people are our allies,” he said, nodding to the wineshop. “They offer no threat.”