“And I,” Antesh grated, face flushing red, “did not come to these shores to leave the greatest soul in Cumbraelin history unavenged.”
“Vengeance is not justice!” Nortah’s fists thumped the table as he leaned forward. “And if Lord Vaelin were here . . .”
“He is not,” Lyrna stated, her voice soft but implacable. “I am here. And I am your queen, my lord.”
She watched the Lord Marshal master himself, knowing he was fighting to keep unwise words from his lips. Of all of us, she thought, he stands immune from the lure of vengeance. The realisation stirred a flare of envy, a yearning for a part of her lost somewhere amongst the flames.
“You are a good man, Lord Nortah,” she told him. “The Realm is enriched by your service. And so I give you my word as your queen that this army will do all it can to spare innocent blood. But, be assured that when we reach Volar I will see it destroyed down to the last fragment of stone and the earth salted so that nothing grows amidst the ruins. If you have no stomach for this course, you are free to resign your command and depart without disfavour.”
Lord Nortah lowered his head, teeth gritted as he hissed a sigh. “No innocent blood,” he said, head still lowered. “You promise me?”
Lord Iltis bridled with a growl, “The Queen’s Word is given, and not for you to question, my lord.”
Nortah’s head came up, his eyes blazing at the Lord Protector for a second before casting his gaze around the other captains. Lyrna wondered if he thought himself the only sane man in an army of maddened souls. As his gaze settled on her, he spoke again, his voice the flat, precise promise of a very dangerous man, “Your word may not be for me to question, Highness, but I will hold you to it nonetheless.”
? ? ?
Another week of marching took them from the pleasing hill country and into a broad dusty plain, its only feature of interest a long river stretching away east in a winding course roughly parallel to the road. “At least we won’t be taken unawares,” Count Marven commented, peering at the barren vista. “You couldn’t hide a single horse out here.”
The following day saw a dim, jagged shape appear on the haze-covered horizon, resolving into a strange sprawling building adorned with multiple tall spires. It sat in a wide bend in the river, the size of a small town, but absent any dwellings. Instead it consisted of a series of pyramidal structures arranged in a spiral, all topped with towers of ascending height, the tallest rising to at least two hundred feet.
“A fortress?” Benten wondered as they closed to within a half mile of the building.
“No defensive walls,” Iltis said. “And no one to hold them if there were.”
There was no sign of any response to their approach, the varied structures devoid of light and movement. Lyrna turned at the sound of a galloping horse, finding Wisdom reining in at her side. Lyrna had left Arrow back in the Realm, unwilling to subject her to the possibly deadly discomforts of the ocean crossing, and discovered her new mount wandering near the dunes when they landed. It was a handsome stallion with a coat of pure black, so finely bred Lyrna wondered if it hadn’t carried the Empress to the shore the day she crafted her storm. She named him Jet in honour of his colouring.
“Great Queen,” Wisdom said, a habitual greeting that always left Lyrna wondering if she wasn’t being mocked. “Impressive isn’t it?” the Eorhil elder went on, gesturing at the building.
“Indeed,” Lyrna agreed. “I would be more impressed if I knew what it was.”
“Navarek Av Devos, which means Portal of the Gods in your tongue. The last great temple of the Volarian gods. The only one to survive the Great Cleansing, I suspect because of its size and remoteness.”
Lord Adal’s North Guard rode ahead to inspect the temple, finding it deserted but for a colony of nesting vultures. At Marven’s suggestion Lyrna agreed the army would camp there for the night; the temple lacked fortifications but still had roofs aplenty and she knew many of her soldiers would appreciate a night under cover of stone rather than flimsy canvas. There was room enough for about half the army, Marven posting the remainder in a wide defensive arc anchored on the river. The temple extended up to and beyond the riverbank where a long row of monstrous statues lowered their heads to the waters. They were mostly impossible combinations of various beasts, a tiger with the head of a lizard, a great eagle with a long scaly tail. There were also two human figures amongst them, improbably muscled warriors kneeling to lower a hand to the swift-flowing current.