Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“Poor old father. He was a terrible soldier, quick to tire in the saddle, prone to sickness, lax in ensuring sufficient supplies for his men. By the time we joined with the rest of the army his dreams of glory had faded amidst the truth of a soldierʼs life, which, from what I could tell, consisted mainly of discomfort, bad food and the constant threat of flogging, enlivened only by an occasional wine ration or game of dice. I suspect he had resolved to extricate himself from his new-found career, and might well have done so with a judicious bribe, but for General Tokrev.”

The Realm folk all straightened at the mention of the name, causing Astorek to blink in surprise. “You know this name?”

“He committed many crimes in our homeland,” Vaelin said. “Heʼs dead now.”

“Ah. News I had long hoped to hear. I always suspected he was not destined for a long life, though, like some of red-clads, it was rumoured that he was already far older than he appeared. We knew his reputation, a commander of tactical brilliance, it was said, but also stern discipline. When we first joined with the army he was in the process of hanging three officers for cowardice, one a battalion commander guilty of voicing defeatist sentiments. Tokrevʼs orders were to concentrate his efforts on the mountain tribes, the slave quota for the year being only half-filled, but he nursed ambitions to go farther, into the frozen north where legend spoke of wild tribes who lived on the ice, said to be far richer in Gifted blood than any people on earth.

“Many of his officers, my father included, were less than happy with this plan. However, Tokrevʼs demonstration was enough to silence any dissent and north we marched, being obliged to fight our way through the tribesfolk on the way. They are a fierce people, born to a warriorʼs life, and make a formidable enemy. Luckily, they also take as much delight in warring among themselves as in fighting the hated southron invaders, so never possessed sufficient numbers to pose a serious obstacle.

“Our battalion was given the task of patrolling the flanks, a tricky business for the most experienced commander, and one far beyond my fatherʼs abilities. Suffice to say our first engagement was a predictable disaster, Father leading us into a narrow ravine to be assailed from above by archers and slingers. His chief sergeant had enough wit to order a charge that carried us into open ground but they were waiting on the other side, a thousand or more screaming tribesmen charging down from the surrounding hills. I saw my father unhorsed in short order and charged towards him, for all his faults he was my father after all. I managed to get to his side but a tribesmanʼs axe cut through my horseʼs foreleg, leaving us both on foot and surrounded. Father was wounded, a deep gash to the forehead, barely aware of what was happening, screaming horror all around as his battalion was torn to pieces. The mountain folk were laughing as they came closer, laughing at the boy trying to ward them off with a shaking sword whilst his father staggered about and shouted orders to corpses. That was the first time it happened.

“I saw a group of horses being gathered a short way off, the tribesmen have few of their own so they are a great prize. I knew if I could just get us to a horse we could ride free, knew it with all certainty. I stared at them, willing them to hear my desperation… And they came, all of them at once, breaking free of the tribesmen and stampeding through those surrounding us, stamping and kicking. Two halted at our side, both standing still as if frozen. I managed to get Father into the saddle and we rode away, every surviving horse following at our backs. We rode blindly for an age, until I too began to slump, realising I was also bleeding, from my nose, my eyes, my mouth. I remember falling from the horse then all was blackness.

“We were found by a Varitai scouting party the next morning, lying senseless amidst a herd of riderless horses. They took us back to camp where the slave-healer was able to wake Father with some kind of herbal mixture, but he was not the same, looking at me with eyes that saw a stranger, his lips spouting gibberish only he could understand. Loon though he now was, General Tokrev still deemed him an incompetent and a coward. As sole heir I was obliged to watch as he was beheaded, the general decreeing his line unworthy of freedom and condemning me to slavery. Naturally, as the wronged party, all my familyʼs wealth was now his.

“A slaveʼs life is rarely an easy one, but to be a slave in army service is a particular form of torment. My comrades were mostly cowards and deserters, subjected to routine beatings to crush any defiance, the slightest sign of disobedience punishable by prolonged torture and death, a fate suffered by three of my companions during the march north. We were employed as beasts of burden, laden with packs that would have tried the strongest man, fed barely enough to sustain life, our numbers dwindled from two hundred to less than fifty by the time we reached the ice.

“The generalʼs glorious campaign began with the destruction of a small settlement on the shore of the frozen ocean. Perhaps five hundred people, small in stature and clad in furs. It should have been an easy victory but these people were far from defenceless, for they somehow had command of bears. Great white bears unlike any seen before, bears that seemed to feel nothing as arrows or spears pierced their hides, bears that tore whole companies to pieces before being hacked down. The general was compelled to commit a full brigade to the fight, and what was expected to be an easy victory turned into a prolonged slaughter. The settlement was his, though many of its inhabitants had fled onto the ice. The few captives, mostly wounded men and women who had fought a rear-guard action to buy time for their people to flee, sat down and refused to move regardless of what torments were visited upon them by the overseers. They were dragged into cages but refused to eat, perishing shortly after, none speaking a single word.

“Although Tokrev was quick to send an inflated account of his victory to Volar, his troops didnʼt share his exultation. The cold was already claiming lives and winter had not yet fully fallen, and the Free Swords looked upon the vast expanse of ice before them with great unease. However, none had the courage to gainsay the general when he ordered the advance and I soon found myself hauling a sled across the ice alongside a dozen other unfortunates. Every morning we would wake to find our numbers diminished until soon only I and three others were left. The overseers cursed and beat us but had little option but to lighten the load, vital provisions being left behind because there were insufficient slaves to haul them. Bellies began to rumble and tempers shorten, the Free Swordsʼ fear growing with every step on the ice, fears that proved well justified.

“The Bear People bided their time, letting us spend lives and food with each passing mile, until the days grew so short the army could cover no more than a few miles at a time. Strangely I found myself better fed than before, the chief overseer had contrived to plunge to his death at the bottom of a hidden crevasse and his surviving subordinates were too wearied by the cold to prevent me helping myself to my fellow slavesʼ rations. They had all perished by now, some due to the beatings, but most taken by the cold.

“I remember the day I last saw the general, standing alone at the head of the column. He paced about on the ice, stamping with impatience and it seemed to me he was waiting for something. Thanks to my increased strength I had begun to harbour insane notions of revenge. The ever-more-neglectful overseers, themselves reduced in number to only two, had failed to notice when I procured a key from one of their fallen comrades, a drunkard who had foolishly passed out after forgetting to properly secure his furs. It would be a simple matter to unfasten my shackles from the sled, sprint towards the general, and hook the chains over his head, strangling him before his Kuritai could respond. It was a hopeless scheme, of course. The man was twice my size and his Kuritai would have been on me before I covered half the distance. But I was young, and hope is ever bright in the young. And the sight of my fatherʼs headless corpse had never faded, fool though he was.