Queen of Fire

Vaelin found himself fast wearying of these folk; their endless feuds and unalloyed suspicion now seemed so unutterably petty. “Stay away from your people as they march north, and mine as we march south.”

 

 

Hirkran narrowed his gaze and spoke again. “He says they garnered much in the way of gold and jewels from this field,” Astorek said. “And doesn’t believe you would simply ride away without trying to take it.”

 

“Then”—Vaelin’s hand went to his sword as his weariness turned to sudden anger—“he can fight me and I’ll prove it by piling all the gold on his corpse before I leave.”

 

Astorek’s translation was clearly unnecessary judging by the way Hirkran bridled, uncrossing his arms and adopting a crouched stance with a challenging growl.

 

“Enough!” Kiral stepped between them, surprising Vaelin by addressing the tribesman in a fluent but harsh torrent of Volarian. Hirkran’s aggression lessened in the face of her tirade though his eyes narrowed further, his face taking on an expression of grim understanding. He voiced a brief snarl as Kiral fell silent, his eyes flicking momentarily to Alturk before he backed away, still crouching, as if expecting an attack at any second. He uttered a soft, intent sentence at Kiral then abruptly turned and walked away, calling to his warriors.

 

“What did you tell him?” Vaelin asked her.

 

“That their weakness and disunity has been noted by my father.” She gestured at an oblivious Alturk. “A great warlord who will return with all our tribe to claim these mountains, for they are unworthy of the riches offered by the spirits.”

 

Astorek gave an appreciative chuckle. “If anything will unite them, it’s that.”

 

Kiral inclined her head with a smile, her humour fading as she looked at Vaelin. “My song indicated you would have killed him.”

 

“Your song was right.” Vaelin turned away and started towards Scar. “We ride within the hour. Astorek, please convey my thanks to your people and assure them of the continued friendship of the Unified Realm. I’ve little doubt my queen will send ambassadors to formalise our alliance in due course.”

 

“From what Wise Bear tells me,” Astorek called after him, “if your mission fails, our victory here will prove no more than a respite from greater dangers.”

 

Vaelin paused, turning to offer the shaman an impatient nod. “Hence my keenness to depart.”

 

Astorek glanced first at Kiral, then at the burgeoning dust cloud beyond the ridge where his people were breaking camp. “Then I will go with you. I . . . feel the wolf would want me to.”

 

Vaelin felt the faintest flutter of humour as he saw Kiral carefully avoid his gaze. Is he answering a wolf’s call? Or a cat’s?

 

“You will be welcome,” he told him, resuming his stride. “Please be brief in your farewells.”

 

? ? ?

 

The journey through the mountains was rich in grim sights testifying to the destruction wrought by the Witch’s Bastard. Murdered tribespeople littered the heather, burnt settlements became a common sight as did the bodies of Volarian soldiers lashed to wooden frames, the flesh of their backs flogged down to the spine. From the frequency of such sights it was clear the red men had led a reluctant army, displaying little imagination in maintaining discipline.

 

“Even Tokrev wasn’t so cruel,” Astorek said as they neared a row of a dozen flogged men, a cloud of crows rising from the frames as they approached.

 

“I found his cruelty more than sufficient,” Vaelin replied. He spied a settlement ahead, charred and mostly ruined but still possessing some intact roofs. “We’ll shelter there tonight. Lord Orven, scout the hills in a five-mile radius. Victory or no, this remains enemy territory.”

 

Erlin came to his fire when the night had grown fully dark. Vaelin had sat apart from the others since the march began. The Sentar were rich in new stories and, though he barely understood a word, their evident relish in recounting the battle roused him to unwise anger. This is what they came for, he chided himself. Another story, the Mahlessa’s gift to her bravest warriors is the chance for a richer tale.

 

“Astorek and Kiral are missing,” Erlin said, sinking down opposite him, hands spread to the warmth. “Haven’t seen either since nightfall.”

 

Vaelin glanced at the blackness beyond the part-tumbled walls of the dwelling he had chosen, a place he would have shared with Dahrena, as Kiral and Astorek now shared another. “I suspect they’re safe enough.”

 

“She told me of a compound she carries,” Erlin said, face tense as he stared into the fire. “Some ancient Lonak concoction that can instill pain, enough to bring a man to the point of death if used in sufficient quantity, or purge him of an unwanted soul.”

 

Vaelin nodded. Lyrna and Frentis had left him in no doubt of the power contained in the Mahlessa’s compound, though he had yet to see it for himself.

 

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