Queen of Fire

“Then why did you join us?”

 

 

Tekrav gave a small shrug. “Even now I’m not entirely sure. The master was good to me, only two floggings in all the years I served him. But he was not so kind to the others, and as One, they looked to me for protection. I had subtle ways of diverting his temper, business matters or a new wine vintage to distract him from whatever torment his mean little mind could conceive. But when the war started and the new slaves came . . .” Tekrav trailed off and forced a smile. “Well, he had so many new toys to play with. And I couldn’t protect them all.”

 

“Lemera and the others. You joined us because they did.”

 

“A man should stay with his family, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, he should.” Frentis gave his inventory a final glance before handing it back. “This is all well in order. My thanks for your diligence. I would be grateful if you would oversee the baggage-train during the march.”

 

“I will, brother. I was wondering, perhaps I could have a title.”

 

Frentis paused, raising an eyebrow. “I assume you have something in mind.”

 

“Nothing too extravagant. But perhaps . . . Lord Quartermaster?”

 

“Chief Quartermaster. Any ennoblements will be for Queen Lyrna to decide.”

 

“Of course. I trust you’ll assure her of my worth in due course?”

 

Free for a few months and already he plots his rise. He’ll probably end his days as Minister of Works, should he live so long. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

 

? ? ?

 

Master Rensial returned the next day to report the way to Viratesk clear of Volarian patrols. In fact, he had failed to glimpse another soul during the entire mission.

 

“Not like them to be incautious,” Lekran observed. “Usually a day on the road won’t pass without seeing at least one troop of cavalry.”

 

“The empire is always keen to police its people,” Thirty-Four agreed.

 

“So we scared them off,” Ivelda said. “Just like my people did to the Othra when they came to take the bronze hills.”

 

“We did take them,” Lekran replied with a surprisingly polite grin. “But found them worthless so gave them back.”

 

She laughed, shaking her head. “Your father told you many lies, sister-fucker.”

 

“I made Redbrother a promise, so I’ll wait till this is over before I claim your head.”

 

“I look forward to being amused by your attempt . . .”

 

“Shut up!” Frentis stated, very precisely. He stared at them both in turn until they lowered their gaze. “All of you, prepare your companies to march at dawn.”

 

They left the villa intact this time. Some of the older slaves had petitioned him to be allowed to stay, hoping to make the place their own. Frentis saw little point in attempting to compel their participation, especially since Illian advised they would be little use in a battle. He scouted ahead with Master Rensial’s troop, confirming the country as empty for miles around. The fields grew increasingly unkempt as they marched north, devoid of slaves, save a few corpses they took to be runaways from the villas they passed, all also uniformly free of occupation and some already burned by their owners.

 

“Told you,” Ivelda taunted Lekran with a laugh. “Pissed themselves and ran off. When we get to the town they’ll do the same.”

 

Viratesk came into sight after a five-day march, a square mile of brick buildings nestled in the bowl of a natural harbour. Frentis’s spyglass revealed the walls as poorly maintained, featuring several gaps and the surrounding ditch long since filled in. Also, he could find no sign of any guards on the walls or smoke rising from a single chimney.

 

“There’s nothing here.” He sighed, lowering the spyglass.

 

They found the town gates open and unguarded, the streets beyond vacant and littered with detritus that told of a hasty flight. “Some of them might have had the decency to stay and fight,” Lekran grumbled. “Just for a little while.”

 

“Take your company and sweep right, make for the harbour,” Frentis told him. “Draker, go left. Myself and Master Rensial will take the centre.”

 

It took only a short time to reach the harbour, passing by rows of vacant houses, the town’s only living occupants a few dogs busily feasting on the carcasses of slaughtered horses and goats left to rot in the streets. They found the wharf free of vessels save a single scuttled fishing boat, its mast jutting from the water at what Frentis felt to be an insulting angle.

 

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