Queen of Fire

“And the filth who slaughtered the people in the harbour?” she asked. “Any trace of them in your flight, my lady?”

 

 

She sensed a certain resignation in Dahrena’s response, a grim acceptance of the consequences of the intelligence she provided. “Four thousand or so, Highness. Twenty miles north-west. Most on foot.”

 

Lyrna turned to Vaelin. “My lord, please ask Sanesh Poltar for the fastest horse the Eorhil can provide and an escort for a royal messenger. They will seek out this Renfaelin army and divine their identity and intentions.”

 

He gave a shallow bow. “Yes, Highness.”

 

“I will see to the recovery of the bodies from the harbour and ensure they are given to the fire with all due ceremony, whilst you will take every rider we have and hunt down their murderers. And I expect to hear no more word of prisoners.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

Vaelin

 

 

 

 

 

We will make an ending, you and I.

 

“My lord?”

 

Vaelin snapped back to the present at Adal’s words, finding the North Guard commander mounted alongside, his eyes narrowed in shrewd appraisal. “My men found some stragglers two miles north,” Adal said. “Close to exhaustion and not having eaten for days. Seems likely the rest won’t be in much better shape.”

 

Vaelin nodded, turning away from the man’s scrutiny, looking to the west where the Eorhil were galloping off to perform the encircling manoeuvre he had ordered that morning. He experienced a moment’s disorientation as the plainsmen crested a rise and disappeared from view, an increasingly familiar sensation mingling frustration with disappointment. There was no song to accompany the ride of the Eorhil, as there had been no song to guide him when Lyrna was found healed in body if not, apparently, in spirit. Nor had there been any song to accompany Orven’s hanging of the Volarian prisoners at her command, nor any music now as he turned back to Adal and ordered him to take his men to cover the east.

 

He saw no reluctance in Adal’s demeanour before he turned his mount about and rode off, but there was uncertainty there, even a faint concern. He wondered if the North Guard’s animosity had worn thinner since Alltor, that if there wasn’t some actual regard for his Tower Lord these days. But, where once such things were so easily divined, now there was only continual uncertainty. Is this what it is to live without a gift?

 

He recalled those brief years when his song had fallen silent, his refusal to heed it leaving him bereft, without guidance. It had been hard to be so rudderless in a sea of chaos and war. This, however, was much worse, because now there was the chill, the bone-deep cold that had seeped into him in the Ally’s domain and lingered on here in this world of myriad paths, all seemingly so dark. And the words, of course, those words that hounded him from the Beyond.

 

We will make an ending, you and I.

 

Nortah trotted up beside him, Snowdance bounding on ahead, as ever enlivened by the prospect of blood.

 

“You belong with your regiment,” Vaelin told him.

 

“Davern has them well in hand,” his brother replied. “Truth be told, I’d be grateful if you’d ask the queen to promote him in my stead. Boundless hatred and bloodlust are not easily tolerated for long.”

 

“They’ll need firm leadership, and a restraining hand.”

 

Nortah raised an eyebrow. “Is that sentiment shared by the queen, brother? If so, I’d be greatly surprised.”

 

Vaelin didn’t respond, recalling his joy on seeing her that day at Alltor as the boat carried her across the river, the blossoming relief as she stepped ashore. The song’s absence was a physical pain and she seemed to offer an antidote, a single point of certainty, burned but glorious. How could I ever have imagined she might have fallen? he had thought, sinking to his knees before her.

 

But as the days passed, and the army’s evident love for their queen swelled by the mile, he had felt the song’s absence ever more keenly. She raises so many questions. And yet seems to ask none herself. He saw great differences from the girl he had met in that palace corridor so many years ago, the unbridled ambition forged into something new, and more troubling. She hungered for power, now what does she hunger for?

 

“My people met with our brother,” Nortah said. He always referred to the Gifted from Nehrin’s Point in this way, as if they were a nation unto themselves. “As per the queen’s request. They told him no, as expected.” He paused. “Have you spoken to him? Since his little revelation?”

 

Vaelin shook his head, keen to avoid discussion on this topic. The questions it raised were even more troubling than those surrounding the queen.

 

“Seventh Order or not,” Nortah went on. “Faith or not. He’s still our brother.”

 

He always knew more, Vaelin thought. More than he ever said. Knowledge that might have been useful, saved many, perhaps even Frentis . . . or Mikehl.

 

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised Nortah. For we have much to discuss.

 

“You’re not going to do anything . . . foolish today, are you?” Nortah asked.

 

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