“You turned former slaves into fighters before, my lord,” she pointed out.
“They had only been in chains for a few days, weeks at most. And their hatred burned bright enough to overcome a lack of skill and discipline.” He gestured at the recruits labouring under the tutelage of sergeants from the Dead Company, who seemed intent on compensating for a lack of shared language with volume. “Most of these have known nothing but bondage.”
“I’m willing to wager their hatred will burn bright too,” Lyrna said. “When sufficiently roused. Keep at it my lord. We move on in three days.”
? ? ?
The city of Urvesk lay close to a fork in the river that ran alongside the road, birthing a smaller tributary snaking off to the north. It reminding her vaguely of Alltor with its high walls; however, the similarity faded at the sight of the many gaps, and the sprawl of mean housing that spread beyond them to the edge of the river. The price of stability is unpreparedness, she decided as Lord Adal galloped towards her.
“The place grows less populous by the day, Highness,” the North Guard commander reported. “They’ve been fleeing north or east in a steady stream since they first caught a glimpse of us. No sign of any soldiery beyond some sentries on the walls, perhaps two hundred at most.”
“Thank you, my lord. Please rest your men.”
“Highness, I . . .” He hesitated, a keen entreaty in his eyes. “I had hoped to lead the assault.”
What is this man’s hunger for glory? she wondered. She greatly valued him as a captain, being one of the few true professionals in the army, but grew ever more concerned over his desire to place himself in peril. Accounts from the battle of the temple were rich in reports of his reckless valour, though he contrived to emerge from it all without a scratch. “There will be no assault, my lord,” she told him. “Conserve your courage for Volar.”
She turned Jet and cantered to where the prisoners had been arrayed, just over a thousand grey-faced men and boys standing shackled in four loosely ordered ranks. “Are there any officers here native to this city?” she called in Volarian.
They shuffled in fearful silence, many not daring to raise their heads, one boy near the front weeping openly.
“Speak up, you filth!” Iltis barked in Realm Tongue, making his meaning clear with a vicious crack of the overseer’s whip he had secured from somewhere.
A man with a bandaged face in the third rank slowly raised a hand and was soon dragged from the throng by Iltis.
“You are an officer?” Lyrna asked the prisoner as Iltis forced him to his knees before her.
“A captain,” he said in a wheezy voice. The bandage on his face covered his right eye, dark with dried blood, his complexion telling of a man moving closer to death with every step. “Called from the reserve to fight the Empress’s glorious war of defence.” He gave a bitter laugh and Lyrna divined he fully expected to die in the next few moments.
“Get up,” she told him. “My lord, remove his chains.”
She guided Jet closer as the one-eyed captain stared up at her in bafflement, seemingly uncaring of the blood that seeped from his chafed wrists as Iltis removed the manacles. “You will go home, Captain,” she told him, pointing to Urvesk. “And tell whoever holds charge of this city that your comrades here will be freed, for I do not come to this land for slaughter, but justice. In return the city will release every slave in bondage and open its gates to me. If they do not, I will kill ten prisoners every hour until they do. If reason still does not prevail, they will find themselves drowning in ash and blood when I send my army through their ragged walls.”
She nudged Jet closer still, leaning down to stare into his one good eye. “Ask them if they really want to die for the Empress.”
? ? ?
By nightfall over three thousand slaves had emerged from the gates. Lyrna watched the last of them troop out and waited, concealing a sigh of relief as the gates remained open. Did you ever manage this, Father? she asked the old schemer’s ghost. To take a city by words alone.
“I should go ahead with the Realm Guard, Highness,” Al Hestian suggested. “Ensure a proper reception for your entry.”
It would be so easy, she thought, eyes still fixed on the open gates. So many wooden houses, so much fuel, the flames would light the sky for a hundred miles.
“I shan’t be entering the city,” she told Al Hestian. “Send as many men as you think fit to ensure they haven’t contrived to retain any slaves and secure additional supplies for my new subjects. No looting on pain of execution. Leave them sufficient stocks to guard against starvation, and their horses. I’m keen for word of our actions here to spread. Be sure the army is ready to march by dawn.”