“They could sally out,” the Asraelin captain pointed out. “Seek to break the fleet in two before we land.”
“Thanks to Lady Alornis’s marvellous devices,” Ell-Nurin replied, “and our considerable advantage in numbers, I’m certain we can contain any sallies they might attempt.” He turned to Frentis. “Brother, I leave it to you to decide the order of landing.”
Frentis nodded. “My own people first. The Politai next. Master Karavek’s people last.”
“Want the glory all to yourself, eh, brother?” Karavek asked, though not without a note of relief.
Ell-Nurin straightened, lifting his chin and gazing off to the east. “My lords, Captains of the Fleet and honoured allies, come the new day we will have struck a deathblow to this most vile of empires. For we come with justice in our hearts and freedom in our souls. Let all who sail with us know, destiny awaits and will not be denied.”
Ell-Nurin held his pose, seemingly expectant of some response, a hearty cheer perhaps. After a moment, as the silence stretched and thickened, he coughed. “To your duties, lords and sirs.”
“What an arse,” Draker muttered as he and Frentis made their way below. “We truly have to take orders from him, brother?”
“Arse he may be, fool he isn’t. The plan is sound. Make sure the others know that.”
Draker nodded and began to move away, then paused. “Always wondered, brother. What’s my rank?”
“Rank?”
“Yeh. You’re a Brother, Illian’s a Sister, the arse is a Fleet Lord. What am I?”
“You can be a sergeant, if you like.”
Draker’s bushy brows bunched in disappointment. “Got more folk answering to me than any sergeant I ever saw. Over two hundred of the buggers at last count.”
“Captain then. Captain Draker of the Queen’s Free Company. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like it’d earn a pension.”
Frentis sighed a laugh. “I expect it will.”
Draker smiled, though his voice held a sombre note as he said, “Sorry for the beatings, brother. If I never said before. I was drunk the whole time, see? Don’t think I had a sober day till Varinshold fell.”
“It was a long time ago, Captain. See to your company, if you would.”
He sought out Sister Merial, finding her in company with a pipe near the stern, the sweet-smelling smoke escaping through an arrow-slit in the hull. “Meldeneans can always be counted on for some prime Alpiran five-leaf,” she said, offering him the pipe. “Been over a year since I had a toke on anything this fine.”
He declined with a raised hand. “Any word from your husband?”
“Indeed.” She took a deep draw, blinking with watery eyes, her gaze losing focus. “Think I might’ve been a bit too generous with meself, brother.”
“Any word?” he repeated as she patted her chest and coughed a little.
“The queen won another victory,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “Becoming a bit of a habit with her. Battle of the Flowers they’re callin’ it, don’t know why. In any case the road to Volar was open as of this morning. They should get there within two days.”
He nodded, thoughts clouded with visions of Lady Reva in the arena, and more besides. Bring the healer . . .
He had resumed taking Brother Kehlan’s sleeping draught in New Kethia, keen to avoid any more shared dreams, wary of what they might reveal to her, though it also robbed him of any clues as to her intentions. Doesn’t care if I bring my army. Seems indifferent to the queen’s approach. What does she plot now?
“We’re landin’ first, I take it,” Sister Merial said.
“My company is. You will remain on the ship.”
“A dog’s fart I will. Sailed half the world for this, and Aspect Caenis deserves a reckoning.”
“You are skilled in arms?”
She gave a short laugh and returned to her pipe, twiddling her fingers at him with a grin. “You’ll see what I’m skilled at, brother. Just don’t stand too close when you do.”
? ? ?
Brokev’s Notch was formed of a small bay flanked by craggy bluffs. Beyond the beach the ground rose in a steep incline to the redflower fields beyond. The sun was only just beginning to glimmer on the horizon and the promise of poor weather had manifested as a light morning drizzle.
“Even a handful of enemies on those heights, Redbrother,” Lekran said with a grimace. “And this bay will become a slaughter-house.”
Frentis said nothing, keeping his gaze on the cliff-tops as the boat neared the shore. It was low tide and the surf was negligible, the oarsmen heaving away at a high tempo regardless of noise; speed was more important than stealth now. He could see no sign of any movement on the bluffs, nor the ground beyond the beach.
“Remember,” he told Lekran. “Do not linger for a second, regardless of loss.”