Queen of Fire

She knew there was something more behind his words, a faint flicker in his eyes she knew all too well. She recalled the forest people’s discomfort in Lady Dahrena’s presence, their inherent revulsion at what she had done for Vaelin and their intense dislike of the sea. The Seordah saw much when they left the forest, she surmised. And came to know fear.

 

“You swore no oath to me,” she said. “So I cannot compel your loyalty. And I would be a fool and a liar to claim this Realm would now be free without your help. Please journey home safely, with my thanks, and rest assured the Seordah and Eorhil will enjoy the friendship and protection of the Unified Realm for all the ages.”

 

They surprised her by bowing, something she had seen neither do before. “If the dark-hearts come back,” Hera Drakil said as he straightened, “we will fight with you again.”

 

They left at noon, Lyrna watching from the walls as the great mass of Eorhil galloped away north, the Seordah following in their loose tribal formations, some adorned with various trinkets gathered during their sojourn.

 

“A grievous loss, Highness,” Count Marven commented at her side. “They would have done fine work across the ocean.”

 

“The Realm Guard is already three times their number,” Lyrna said, striving to ensure her confidence didn’t sound forced. “And not all have left.” She nodded at the Seordah and Eorhil encamped near the gatehouse, perhaps three hundred warriors who had opted to stay. Some had formed close bonds with the Realm folk they had met on the march, even a few marriages; she could see Lord Orven’s rapidly blossoming wife moving among the elk-hide shelters. Others had elected to join her crusade in pursuit of justice for the many outrages witnessed during the campaign, the remainder possessed of nothing more than basic curiosity, a desire to see what lay beyond the great water. The Eorhil elder, Wisdom, was chief among the latter. “I find there is always room in my head for more knowledge, Highness,” she had said in answer to Lyrna’s query.

 

“At least we won’t have to find room for so many horses,” her new Battle Lord continued. “Burdened as we are with the Renfaelin knights and our own cavalry.” He paused, no doubt mustering the nerve to voice unwelcome advice. “Highness, the fleet grows daily but also slowly. Consequently, I believe it may be necessary to send the army in two waves. The first carrying the elite of the Realm Guard and Lady Reva’s archers. They will secure a defensible port whilst the fleet returns for the remainder.”

 

Lyrna watched the last of the Seordah disappear over a distant rise. She fancied there was a single figure who lingered a moment. Hera Drakil perhaps, or just a warrior looking on a place he never hoped to see again. “Is there a Countess Marven?” she asked. “A family waiting for you in Nilsael?”

 

“In Frostport, yes. My wife and two sons.”

 

“You should bring them here. They will be very welcome at court.”

 

“I doubt that, Highness. My wife is . . . possessed of a difficult temper. Within a day of her arrival she would be demanding her own palace.”

 

“Ah.” She turned from the view as the lone Seordah disappeared from sight. “Attacking in small numbers will avail us nothing, my lord. The Volarians have lost many soldiers but their empire is rich in more. We will descend upon them in but one wave, washing their filth from the land in the process.”

 

“Forgive me, Highness. But we do not possess even half the number of ships required.”

 

“No,” she agreed. “A state of affairs I expect to see rectified shortly.”

 

? ? ?

 

Davoka waited with the horses in the palace courtyard. “It’s done?” Lyrna asked her in Lonak, climbing onto Arrow’s back.

 

“It was as you foretold,” Davoka replied, her bland expression at odds with her tone.

 

“Pity.” Lyrna turned Arrow towards the palace gate. “Let us find a welcome distraction.”

 

Varinshold thrummed with activity as they rode through the streets flanked by Benten and Iltis, people pausing to bow or call out a loyal greeting before hurrying to their tasks. For all its bustle the fabric of the city was scarcely healed, a few newly completed buildings rising from the devastation, and these only plain, functional barracks devoid of aesthetic value. Malcius would have wept, she knew, surveying her capital, now a city of canvas and wood rather than stone. He did so love to build.

 

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