“My back is not so pretty,” she went on. “My first night in the pleasure house I cried, greatly displeasing the red-clad who had paid a handsome sum to take my virginity. My master had me flogged every day for a week then sold me to a pig farmer. The pigs ate better than I did and the farmer didn’t care if I cried when he pawed me. Would you like to see my back, Great Queen?”
“I grieve for all you’ve suffered,” Lyrna told her. “My wrists were once bound by chains so do not imagine your pain is unknown to me. Nor should you imagine that I care for the enemies we kill. However, if your people are to march with us, they must regard themselves as soldiers, bound by the orders of those who command them.”
“We have no intention of trading one master for another,” the woman returned, though her tone was more cautious. “And we are grateful for your coming. But there is much to account for, and we have only just begun.”
“You’ll have your accounting. When this war is won give me the name of the master who flogged you and I’ll see the same done to him, and the pig farmer. Have your people make lists of the wrongs done to them and I’ll ensure every soul receives justice. But until then I must ask that your people conduct themselves as soldiers and not a mob. You will be paid the same as any soldier in my Realm Guard, but service requires discipline. Lord Nortah is a fine commander who will not waste your lives, you would do well to heed him.”
“And if we do not want to serve you?”
Lyrna spread her hands. “You are free people and may go where you wish, taking with you payment for service already rendered plus my thanks and friendship.”
The woman thought for a moment, her stance marginally less closed. “Some will leave, some will stay,” she said. “Many, like me, were stolen from their homelands years ago and will wish to return.”
“I will make no effort to prevent them, even provide ships to carry them home when our task is complete.”
“You’ll make an oath to this, in front of all of them?”
“I will.”
The woman nodded. “Come to us this night, I will ensure they listen.” She gave an awkward half bow and went to the tent flap.
“You didn’t give me your name,” Lyrna said.
“Sixty-Three,” the woman replied, a faint grin playing over her lips. “I’ll resume my own when I go home. And don’t worry about the pig farmer, his hogs ate better than ever the day I left.”
? ? ?
It’s beautiful. She had reined Jet to halt beside Aspect Arlyn and Brother Sollis, waiting with the Sixth Order atop a low hill, all sitting in silent regard of the sprawling city in the distance. The sky was clear today and the unconstrained sun played over the panoply of marble, making it gleam before painting a glittering shine on the waters of the Cut of Lokar to the south. The absurdity of her mission became clear as she took in the myriad towers and countless streets; the destruction of such a city would be the work of years and she doubted even Alornis could conceive of a device capable of birthing a conflagration great enough to bring it down.
“No enemies to report, Highness,” Brother Sollis said. “No sign of any defensive works in the suburbs either. There are some fires raging farther in, large numbers of free folk seen fleeing to the north. The slaves flee in our direction.”
Lyrna nodded. She had ordered the release of the few hundred prisoners captured two days before, having been provided with fulsome descriptions of the dread queen’s intentions. It seems sufficient numbers had fled back to Volar to bring about the desired effect.
“Highness!” It was Brother Ivern, raised up in his saddle and pointing to the south. It took a moment for her to recognise the dark shapes dotting the waters of the Cut. She used the spyglass to pick out the Meldenean battle flags flying from the thicket of masts, all clustered in an arc around the harbour, dozens more visible farther downriver, the unmistakable sleek shape of the Red Falcon among them.
She beckoned to one of the Queen’s Daggers. “Ride to the Battle Lord. He is to proceed to the centre of the city forthwith, destroying any opposing forces he should encounter. Tell him I believe our newly freed subjects would be best kept in reserve.” She turned to Aspect Arlyn. “Aspect. I trust you recall the route to the arena.”
“I do, Highness.”
“So then.” She spurred Jet into a gallop, descending the eastern slope amidst a flurry of crimson petals. “Courtesy requires I greet the Empress, and I should not like to keep her waiting.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Reva
“Where did you get that?”
Reva found herself reaching involuntarily for the bow. The design was unfamiliar, axes and swords in place of the stag and the wolf, but the craftsmanship was unmistakable. A bow of Arren.
“You know this weapon?” Varulek asked her, his eyes shining with the same intensity.