He had placed the Garisai in the leading boats along with all their archers, Draker and Illian’s people following behind with orders to secure the bluffs. Master Rensial had opted to accompany him, probably in hopes of finding a horse as quickly as possible.
Frentis leapt clear at the sound of the boat’s hull scraping on the sand, sinking into the water up to his knees and immediately labouring towards the beach. In accordance with their orders the archers spread out with arrows already notched and bows raised, constantly scanning the bluffs for any sign of an enemy. The Garisai churned the tide-water into a white froth as they charged with Frentis, all making it onto the sand untroubled by the telltale hiss of an arrow storm or shouts of alarm.
Frentis permitted no pause on the beach, running across to the grassy slope and halting only on reaching the top. The Garisai immediately assumed a defensive formation though there was no sign of any opposition. The fields, rendered a dull shade of crimson by the morning gloom, stretched away silent and unmarred by a single living soul. Off to the west he could see the rising sun playing on towers ascending from the redflower like silver pins in a vast red blanket.
“Volar,” Lekran said in an oddly reverent tone. “All those years a slave to this empire, and this is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on it.”
And perhaps the last, Frentis mused. There may be nothing left when the queen gets done. The thought stirred memories of the grey-clad girl and her mother and he shifted his gaze to the beach in search of a distraction. Draker and Illian’s people were already ashore and in the process of splitting up to make for the bluffs. The Politai were fast approaching the beach, Weaver’s curly-haired form visible in the lead boat. Bring the healer . . .
“This smells wrong,” Ivelda said, scanning the poppy fields with a suspicious squint. “Not even a scout to greet us. Where are they?”
Frentis watched as Volar’s sprawling suburbs were revealed by the burgeoning sun. No walls to fight our way over, but a house can be made a fortress easily enough. “I suspect we’ll have an answer within the hour.”
They found the first body two miles on from the bay, a boy of about fifteen lying amidst the flowers, grey-clad and barely two hours gone by Frentis’s reckoning. He had been killed with a single thrust to the back, probably from horseback judging by the angle.
“Three more here,” Ivelda said from nearby. “Man, woman and child. Someone killed a family.”
They kept on towards the suburbs in a tight formation, Garisai skirmishing in front, Draker’s company on the right and Illian’s on the left. Karavek’s people followed in a dense mass with the Politai acting as rear-guard. Frentis set a punishing pace; moving across open ground with no cavalry to secure the flanks instilled a keen sense of vulnerability. More bodies were discovered on the march, grey-clads and a few slaves with the occasional black-clad. Most had wounds to the back, indicating they had been cut down whilst running. Frentis counted over a hundred by the time they reached the first houses whereupon he stopped counting.
What is she doing?
They lay in every doorway, every street corner, the gutters running red as evidence of the freshness of the slaughter. There was no sign of torture on the bodies, few with more than two wounds, most with one. This had been an efficient massacre, performed without regard to age, sex or station. Children lay alongside the elderly, slaves were entwined with overseers. Black, grey and enslaved all united in death.
“The queen?” Draker asked Frentis, skin pale beneath his beard. “I know she wanted justice, but this . . .”
“This was not the queen,” Frentis told him. “The Empress has set her Arisai to work.”
“Those red bastards? Thought we killed them all.”
Nine thousand more . . . He sighed at his own stupidity. They must have all been given the same lie to tell if captured.
“Varitai and Free Swords are one thing, brother,” Karavek said. “Even Kuritai. But my people can’t stand against the red men . . .”
“Then go back to the beach and beg Lord Ell-Nurin to take you home.” Frentis turned back to Draker. “Choose your fastest runner, send them to the Notch with a request the Fleet Lord come ashore with every sailor who can hold a blade.” He turned to view the death-choked streets ahead. “He’ll find us at the arena.”