Queen of Fire

Alucius recalled the night the city fell, the screams and the flames waking him from drunken slumber, stumbling downstairs to find his father in the main hall, surrounded by Kuritai, slashing madly with his sword as they circled, one already dead but they made no move to kill him. Alucius had stood frozen in shock as a meaty arm closed over his neck and the short sword pressed into his temple. A Free Sword officer shouted to his father, pointing to Alucius. The expression on his face as he straightened from the fight was hard to forget, not shame, not despair, just honest and desperate fear for a loved son.

“Thirty days,” Alucius said softly, moving away, hugging himself tight. “Winterfall Eve is in thirty days, is it not?”

“Yes,” Al Hestian said after a moment’s thought. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Alucius felt his father’s eyes on him, knowing they were heavy with concern. “Do you need anything, Alucius?”

“Some more food,” he said. “Aspect Dendrish threatens to hang himself if we don’t feed him more. Though I doubt the bedsheets will hold him.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Alucius turned back, his smile bright, heartbeat steady now the weight of indecision had lifted. “Thank you, my lord.”

He was walking away when a commotion rose at the gate, the Varitai guards parting to allow entry to a lone rider. Alucius judged him as one of Darnel’s hunters, in truth a bunch of rogues and cutthroats recruited from the dregs of Renfael to hunt down the Red Brother. The man sagged in his saddle as he rode towards Alucius’s father, foam on his horse’s flanks and mouth. He nearly collapsed on dismounting, sketching a bow and speaking words too faint for Alucius to hear, though from the way his father straightened on hearing them, clearly of some import. Al Hestian strode off, barking orders, his two Kuritai guards in tow, Alucius hearing the word “cavalry” before he disappeared from view.

“First a risen queen and now a need for cavalry,” Alucius mused aloud to Twenty-Seven. “I believe it’s time to say good-bye to an old friend.”

• • •

Blue Feather delivered a painful nip at his thumb as he lifted her clear of the coop, the message dangling from her leg. So much weight on such a fragile thing, Alucius thought, eyeing the thin wire clasp.

“Do you want to say good-bye to her?” he asked Twenty-Seven who, as ever, said nothing.

“Oh, ignore him,” he told Blue Feather. “I’m going to miss you.” He held her up and opened his hands. She sat there for a moment, seemingly uncertain, then leapt free, her wings a blur as she ascended, then flattened out to catch the wind and fly away south.

Winterfall Eve, Alucius thought as he lost sight of the bird. When it’s said all grievances are forgiven, for who wants to bear a grudge through the hardships of winter?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Frentis

A stiff autumn wind played over the remnants of the Urlish, raising swirling columns of ash to sting eyes and choke throats. It stretched away on either side of them, a dirty grey blanket covering the earth, broken only by the occasional black spike of a once-mighty tree.

“Would’ve thought some of it might have survived,” Ermund said, hawking and spitting before tying a scarf about his face.

“Darnel was certainly thorough,” Banders said. “Marching across this will not be pleasant.”

“We could skirt it,” Arendil suggested. “Head to the coast.”

“The coast road is too narrow,” Sollis said. “Too many choke points, and Al Hestian is bound to know them all.”

“And if we maintain this course,” Banders replied, “the dust trail we raise will give him ample signal of our approach. Not to mention filling our lungs with this stuff.”

“The country to the west is more open,” Sollis admitted. “But will add another week to our march.”

Frentis stifled a groan at the prospect of more days spent dreading dream-filled nights. Varinshold had become a focus for his desire for an ending, an ever-growing hope that whatever the outcome of their assault he would at least be assured release from her.

“Can’t be helped, brother.” Banders turned his horse about, nodding to Ermund. “Spread the word, we turn west until we clear the ash.”

• • •

“It was there again,” Illian said at breakfast, smiling thanks at Thirty-Four as he handed her a bowl of his honey-sweetened porridge.

“What was there?” Arendil asked.

“The wolf. I’ve seen it every day for a week now.”

“Throw stones,” Davoka suggested. “Wolf will run from stones.”

“Not this one. He’s so big I doubt he’d feel them. Anyway, he’s not scary. Doesn’t chase after me, or growl or anything. Just sits and watches.”

Frentis saw discomfort in Davoka’s expression as she watched the girl eat her porridge. “I come with you today,” she said. “See if he watches me.”

Illian scowled, speaking a laboured but precise Lonak phrase he knew translated as, “The coddled cub never hunts.”