Queen of Fire

He turned to regard my approach, a tight, wary smile on his lips, and I realised he had lingered to witness my own departure. Our interactions since the relief of Alltor had been brief, somewhat terse in truth, distracted as he was by the ceaseless tumult of war and whatever malady had plagued him in the aftermath of his already legendary charge. The fatigue that turned his once-strong features into a sagging mask of red-eyed lethargy and his strident if coarse voice into a droning rasp. It had faded now, I could see. Recent battle seemed to have restored him somehow, making me wonder if he found some form of sustenance in blood and horror.

“My lord,” he greeted me with a sketch of a formal bow then nodded at my prisoner. “My lady.”

Fornella returned the nod but gave no response, regarding him without expression as the salt-tinged wind tossed her hair, a single streak of grey visible amidst the reddish brown tumult.

“I have already received ample instruction . . .” I began but Al Sorna waved a hand.

“I come to offer no instruction, my lord,” he said. “Merely a farewell and my best wishes for your endeavour.”

I watched his expression as he waited for a response, the wary smile smaller now, his black eyes guarded. Can it be? I wondered. Is he seeking forgiveness?

“Thank you, my lord,” I replied, hefting the heavy canvas bag to my shoulder. “But we have a ship to board before the morning tide.”

“Of course. I’ll accompany you.”

“We don’t need a guard,” Fornella said, her tone harsh. “I’ve given my word, tested by your truth-teller.” It was true, we walked alone this morning without escort or formality. The reborn court of the Unified Realm had little time or inclination for ceremony.

“Indeed, Honoured Citizen,” Al Sorna replied in clumsy and heavily accented Volarian. “But I have . . . words for this grey-clad.”

“Free man,” I corrected before switching to Realm Tongue. “Grey-clad denotes financial rather than social status.”

“Ah, quite so, my lord.” He stepped aside and gestured for me to continue along the wharf to the quay where the ships waited, a long line of Meldenean war galleys and traders. Naturally, our vessel was moored at the farthest end of the line.

“Brother Harlick’s gift?” he enquired, nodding at the bag I carried.