Queen of Fire

 

The Volarian was dying, she could see it; his skin hanging from the bones of his face like a desiccated mask, eyes dull with defeat and recent suffering. Nevertheless, he had told his tale in an unwavering voice, the tones clear and strong, a man of centuries-long experience in oratory. “The Empress will confront you with only a third of the fleet,” he said to the assembled captains of the Queen’s Host, called to council on her flagship. “After you have defeated them she expects you to sail into the Cut of Lokar. The full fleet will move from the south to cut you off. That is all I know.”

 

Reva watched as the Shield examined the detailed chart on the table. They had convened on the main deck of the Queen Lyrna, no cabin being large enough to accommodate so many. The sea was calmer today, though still fractious enough to make the boat that had carried her here pitch alarmingly, shipping water with every passing minute. Reva found life at sea not much to her liking, even after she overcame the initial bout of sea-sickness the confines of ship life were trying in the extreme, as was the recurrent ache whenever her thoughts strayed to Veliss and Ellese.

 

“The Cut of Lokar.” Ell-Nestra’s voice brought her back to the present as he tapped an inlet on the Volarian coast. “The only direct sea-route to Volar. Once we sail in there they could bottle us up with comparatively few ships. Numbers won’t matter for much in such close confines. Plus it’ll be an easy matter for them to garrison the north and south banks against a landing.”

 

“This new Empress of theirs sets an elegant trap,” Count Marven said with a note of reluctant admiration. “Sadly, it seems she’s no Tokrev.”

 

“An overcomplicated ruse,” the queen responded, her voice uncoloured by any respect. “I doubt she’s ever played keschet.” She turned to the Shield. “Your advice, Fleet Lord Ell-Nestra?”

 

“Fighting a needless battle is never a good option,” he replied, his gaze still roaming the map. “Especially at sea where so much is dependent on chance. And manoeuvring a fleet so heavily laden with troops will prove arduous to say the least. I suggest we simply avoid the enemy, taking a north-eastern course to land here.” He tapped a shallow bay a hundred miles north of the Cut of Lokar. “Some of my captains have done a little smuggling on these shores and tell me the beach here is large enough to accommodate at least a fifth of the army at one landing. With the bulk of Volarian forces securing the banks of the Cut, they shouldn’t have more than a handful to oppose us. Once the army is landed the fleet will be free to deal with any threat to our supply lines.”

 

The queen turned to her Battle Lord. “Count Marven?”

 

“It will take three days at least to land the entire army, Highness. Whilst most Volarian forces will be concentrated to the south, we must still expect an attack of some kind from the local garrisons before being fully ready to march.”

 

“We could land farther north,” the Shield conceded with a sigh. “But the coast offers few other landing sites for at least another two hundred miles.”

 

“The greater the distance to Volar the lesser our chances of success,” the queen said, raising her eyes from the map to scan her captains, her gaze eventually coming to rest on Reva. “And we have one in our ranks who can be considered expert in fending off Volarian attacks.”

 

? ? ?

 

“In addition to your archers and guardsmen,” the queen said, “I will give you three regiments of Realm Guard, all veterans, including the Wolf Runners.”

 

“They will be very welcome, Highness,” Reva replied.

 

She had been called to the queen’s cabin for a private audience, the first time they had been truly alone. Even the hulking Lord Protector had been ordered to wait outside. Reva found herself once again struck by the queen’s beauty, even the faint white lines tracing back from her brow into the now-lustrous red-gold hair seemed to enhance rather than mar her perfection. More than that was the innate, effortless confidence, the peerless authority that ensured she commanded the attention of every set of eyes in any gathering. Despite this, or perhaps in part because of it, Reva had yet to feel the slightest flicker of attraction for her queen. She was easier to like when burnt, she decided. Now the mask is too perfect.

 

“Please know you are free to refuse this command,” the queen went on. “Without any disfavour.”

 

“We came here to finish this,” Reva said. “Besides, I think I’d rather fight on land than sea.”

 

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