Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

She fell silent, her breath soft on his chest as he held her even tighter. When she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper and coloured with suppressed fear, “I did my best to die that day, Vaelin. I hung above the forest and watched over his body, knowing my own would soon lose its warmth, hoping I could join his endless hunt in the shadows… Father brought me back, somehow I heard his voice pleading with me to return. I barely felt the chill when I slipped back into my body, in truth for weeks I barely felt anything. Then I went to the stone and sought counsel with Nersus Sil Nin. She told me something, something I didnʼt want to believe.”

She rose, bringing her face level with his, staring into his eyes. “She told me I had much still to do. That great trials lay ahead and a lifetime of grief was not a luxury I would be permitted. And she said she had once gifted a Seordah name to a man, a man I would come to love.” She gave a laugh, her breath soft on his lips. “I thought she was mad. I was wrong.”

They returned to Orvenʼs company two days later, finding them all mounted and drawn up in battle formation. The reason was easily found, at least a hundred Lonak on their stout ponies plainly visible on the crest of a hill a quarter mile to the north.

“They appeared this morning, my lord,” Orven reported as Vaelin rode up, greeting Dahrena with a surprised bow. “Very good to see you again, my lady.”

“My lord. I hear congratulations are in order.”

Orven gave a small grin before casting a wary glance at the Lonak. “I fear theyʼll have to wait.”

Vaelin raised an eyebrow at Kiral who looked upon her fellow Lonak with steady gaze. “They come at the Mahlessaʼs bidding, though not without misgivings.”

“Then weʼd best say hello.” He told Dahrena and the others to wait with Orvenʼs men and rode forward with Kiral. They approached to within a few yards of the base of the hill, halting when one of the Lonak spurred his pony down the slope, a hulking man with a bearskin vest and a mazelike tattoo covering his shaven head. His face provoked a rush of recognition as he halted his pony a few yards away, regarding Vaelin with a baleful glare and greeting Kiral in terse Lonak.

“This is Alturk,” she told Vaelin. “Tahlessa of the Mahlessa Sentar.”

“Weʼve met,” Vaelin said, nodding at the big man. “Your son is well?”

Alturkʼs face spasmed with anger and Vaelin resisted the urge to reach for his sword as Kiral tensed beside him.

“My son was varnish,” Alturk said in harsh Realm Tongue. “A worthless life well ended.”

Vaelin wondered if he should voice some word of sympathy but guessed it would only be taken as further insult. “The Mahlessa has granted us passage,” he said. “What is your purpose here?”

Alturk gritted his teeth, speaking in slow controlled tones as if worried his anger might choke him. “The Mahlessa commands one hundred of the Sentar follow you. The finest blood of the Lonakhim, to be spilled at your word.”

“You know our course? We travel across the ice to the lands of our enemy. The dangers are many.”

“Word from the Mountain is not questioned.” Alturk tugged on his reins, turning the pony. “Follow our track, do not stray from it. There are few here who welcome your coming and I give no promise of safety.”

They covered thirty miles by nightfall, the Sentar setting a punishing pace through myriad canyons and valleys. Vaelin noted they rode with weapons ready, many holding bows with arrows notched, eyes constantly scanning the surrounding hilltops. His eyes also picked out a few riderless ponies among them and noted some warriors sported recently bound wounds.

“The Mahlessa asks much of our people in allowing your passage,” Kiral explained, following his gaze. “The False Mahlessa may have fallen but her words still linger in many ears.”

“But you are… were the False Mahlessa,” Vaelin said. “Wonʼt your presence among us discourage them?”

Kiral smiled sadly. “When the Mahlessa freed me I went forth from the Mountain with my sisters, telling my story at the fires of every clan. Itʼs a story welcome at any fire, being so rich in incident. Most believed it, some didnʼt, thinking me somehow turned from my true course by the Mahlessa. The thing that held me had a way with words, an ability to plant the seeds of doubt in the hearts of those already versed in malice and cruelty. Itʼs easier to hate when given a reason, and she had many.”

They encamped amidst the crags of a low plateau some hours later, Alturk posting a heavy guard on all approaches. Most of the Sentar seemed content to stay away from the Merim Her but not all were so wary, one stocky woman approaching to peer at Dahrena as she unsaddled her horse, speaking in rapid Lonak.

“I donʼt know your language,” Dahrena said, clearly discomforted by the scrutiny.

“She asks if you belong to the Arrow Glass Clan,” Kiral explained. “Your face reminds her of a cousin she lost years ago.”

Dahrena offered the stern-faced Lonak woman a cautious frown. “Lost how?”

“A raid,” Kiral related. “An entire village was wiped out, her cousin died along with her sisters and their children. They thought it the Seordah but the tracks were wrong, and the Seordah never kill children.”

Dahrenaʼs expression became more intent and she laid down her saddle, stepping closer to the Lonak woman. “Did her cousin have a name?”

“Mileka,” Kiral translated. “It means Owl.” She paused as the Lonak woman spoke on. “She asks if you have a story for the fire.”

“Yes.” Dahrena gave a reluctant nod. “I have a story.”

The Lonak woman brought a dozen or so more Sentar to hear the story, squatting around the fire as Kiral translated Dahrenaʼs tale. The presence of Wise Bear and Iron Claw was an obvious source of discomfort but apparently not sufficient to assuage the desire for a new tale. They sat, clearly fascinated as she related her dim memory of the destruction of her village. Some became agitated when she mentioned the wolf that had borne her through the forest, but they all stayed until she finished, relating how Lord Al Myrna had found her and made her his daughter, nodding and grunting in appreciation as she fell silent.

“They liked it,” Kiral said, a note of relief in her voice. “A good story means much to my people.” She tensed somewhat as Alturk stepped from the shadow of a nearby crag, arms crossed and gaze fixed on Dahrena.

“You lived as Merim Her,” he said. “But your arms are adorned with Seordah trinkets.”

“I am both Merim Her and Seordah,” she replied evenly. “In soul if not in blood.”

Alturk grunted something that might have been a laugh. “Lonak blood doesnʼt weaken so easily. You may feel it swell again before this tale is done.” He growled something at the onlooking Sentar and they quickly scrambled to their feet before disappearing into the shadows. “Be sure to wake before dawn,” he told Vaelin, stalking back into the night.

The first attack came the following day as they traversed a deep canyon half a dayʼs march from the plateau. A group of some two dozen Lonak appeared out of a cave mouth to launch a volley of arrows before hurling themselves at the Sentar, clearly intent on fighting their way through to the hated Merim Her. Only one managed to breach the cordon, the others being clubbed down or speared in short order, seemingly without any loss to the Sentar. The lone warrior ran directly for Vaelin, screaming madly with war club raised, then skidding to a halt as Iron Claw lumbered into his path. The Lonak stared, eyes wide in horror as the bear bellowed his challenge, rising to his full height. The warrior dropped his club, apparently now unreasoned by terror and numb to the arrow that punched through his chest a second later. Kiral walked to the corpse, bow in hand, kicking his legs to make sure before kneeling to reclaim her arrow.