Queen of Fire

by Anthony Ryan

  The air thrummed as she rose and sprinted towards Lieza, every Arisai in sight falling in unison as the arrow storm swept down. She skidded to a crouch at Lieza’s side and pulled her upright. The girl gave a shout of alarm as an Arisai laboured towards them, teeth bared in a fierce smile as he struggled closer with arrows jutting from his shoulders and legs. Reva snatched another arrow from the sand and sent it into his eye from five paces, then grabbed Lieza’s arm and pulled her towards the nearest doorway. The heavy iron-shod door was firmly locked but the stone arch at least offered some protection. She could see Varitai archers on the lower tiers, vainly trying to contest the longbowmen above as the crowd convulsed around them, people massing in dense, roiling throngs as they stampeded for the exits.

  Then the arrow storm began to abate, slowly at first, but soon dwindling to nothing. Reva stepped out from the archway, scanning the upper tiers and finding them full of thrashing men, red and black amidst the grey-green of the Cumbraelins. Her gaze went to the door where the unfortunate Jarvek had entered the arena, finding it still open. “Come on,” she told Lieza, taking her hand and starting forward.

  The Empress landed in their path and rolled into a fighting stance, short sword held low and regarding Reva with a stern frown of annoyance. “You spoiled my spectacle.”

  Reva backed away, ushering Lieza behind her and casting about frantically for another arrow as the battle raged above.

  “All my lessons,” the Empress said, dancing closer, sword held low. “All my generous tutelage, cast back in my face. I am very disappointed, little sister.”

  She lunged and Reva rolled to the side, dragging Lieza with her, the blade missing by inches. She came to her feet and swung the bow like a club, aiming for the Empress’s head. She ducked it easily, rounding on Reva with a disapproving scowl. “Our mother died with you inside her, as I lay abed and listened to her screams beyond the door. The Ally had told my father of the blessing, you see, and he was thirsty.”

  She lunged again, Reva pushing Lieza to the left as she dodged to the right. She saw an Arisai’s body no more than ten feet away, feathered with arrows and a sword lying under its hand.

  “Mother would have loved you more than me,” the Empress told Reva, leaping into her path as she started towards the body. “I know this. But I don’t mind, you would still have been my sister.”

  Reva glanced at Lieza, imploring her to run, but the girl stayed, hefting her chains and adopting a clumsy approximation of a fighting stance. The Empress laughed at her, then sobered. “Such devotion,” she said, shaking her head. “All I ever received was fear and lust. I would have loved you, sister. But the envy would have been hard to bear.”

  Reva looked again at the Arisai’s body, gauging the distance and calculating her chances of leaping over the Empress’s sword … Then she saw something else.

  “I am not your sister!” she shouted to the Empress, capturing her wide-eyed gaze. “You have known nothing but fear and lust because that is all you are. You are just a madwoman who has lived far too long.”

  “Mad?” The Empress’s humour returned, her sword lowering a little as she laughed. “What do you think the world is if not just an endless parade of madness? To make war is madness. To seek power is madness.” She laughed louder, throwing her arms wide. “And madness is glorious!”

  Reva assumed the ape was simply attempting to complete the role it had been trained for, trailing a red stain across the arena as it dragged itself towards the Empress with its steel claws, taking her for Livella as she was the only one armed. With a rasping roar it reared up and lunged, claws lashing out as the Empress turned, taking the three steel barbs full in the chest.

  The ape gave a final bellow, either of triumph or rage, and sagged onto the arena floor, sand flying high as it breathed its last. Reva moved closer as the Empress struggled, still somehow alive, blood flowing in torrents from her mouth as she laboured to heave herself off the ape’s claw, finally succeeding with a shriek of agony. She lay panting, breath coming in hard, convulsive tics as she stared up at Reva with the same wide, unreasoning eyes, smiling with a genuine affection that made Reva’s hand itch for a sword.

  She became aware of the sound of battle once more, looking up to see that the conflict had spread across the tiers, the Volarian citizenry huddled together as the fighting raged around them. It appeared the Cumbraelins had been reinforced by Realm Guard, Lord Nortah’s free fighters judging by the number of women in their ranks. Also she glimpsed the trailing blond hair of the Shield on the lower terraces, fighting alongside several dozen freed Garisai. She sent a prayer to the Father to ensure Allern was amongst them. The knots of red and black were shrinking under the combined assault, though, as ever the Arisai showed no dismay at their own imminent passing, fighting to the last and laughing as they died.

  Reva started as the Empress issued a loud, hacking snarl, arms flailing as she sought to rise, gaze fixed on something at the north end of the arena, a single word discernible among her blood-choked babble. “Bitch!”

  Queen Lyrna Al Nieren strode across the sand, accompanied by her hulking Lord Protector and a tall, aged brother of the Sixth Order Reva didn’t recognise. A dozen or so Realm Guard fanned out on either side as she came towards Reva, waving away her bow and drawing her into a warm embrace. “My lady. Please accept my sincere apologies for not reaching you sooner.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Vaelin

  They were obliged to force their way through a horde of fleeing Volarians, all too panicked and livid with terror to even recognise a group of foreign invaders. Many pelted through the redflower on either side of the road, shorn of any baggage as they fled, recent horrors etched into bleached features. In contrast the families moved in dense, wary knots, clutching meagre bundles with their children held close, small faces bunched in tears or frozen in fear.

  Astorek leaned down to pull a man from the throng, a balding grey-clad of middling years with a little boy clinging to his side. He answered the shaman’s questions in clipped tones, habitual servility overcoming his dread.

  “The Empress has set her Arisai on the city,” Astorek reported, releasing the grey-clad, who stumbled on without pause. “They’re killing everyone. He seemed to think it was punishment for not attending the arena, even though the place could never hold all of them.”

  Vaelin turned to the Ally, regarding the passing refugees with only vague interest. “Is this your doing?” he demanded.

  The Ally shrugged and shook his head. “She was mad even before I took her. And these people have always stirred her hatred.”

  They moved on, breaking free of the fleeing mob after another mile and proceeding into the city. The eastern district seemed to be the merchants’ quarter, rich in warehouses and canals, their dark waters thick with floating corpses. Here and there dazed people wandered into their path, wounded or shocked into passivity. Horrors greeted them at every turn, women wept over murdered children and mystified infants prodded fallen parents. Vaelin closed his heart against it all and kicked Scar to a faster trot, his gaze fixed on the arciform mass of the arena rising from the centre of the city. He shot continual inquisitive looks at Kiral, who could only confirm the urgent note of her song.

  After a tortuous hour-long ride they broke into the parkland surrounding the arena where he forced Scar to full gallop, hearing a rising cacophony as they neared the great red-gold edifice. Something flickered in the corner of his eye and he turned to see a line of people running towards the arena’s south-facing wall, perhaps five hundred, all armed. His gaze went to the figure in the lead, picking out the dark blue cloak and the familiar, precise gait of his run. He angled Scar to the left, leaping corpses and thundering over marble and grass to charge into the path of the onrushing fighters, dragging him to a halt and raising his hand.

  The charging line came to a slow stop as Frentis waved his sword. They were an odd bunch, men and women in motley armour bearing the marks of recent battle, some wit
h Volarian colouring, others plainly Alpiran or of Realm origin. He breathed a sigh of relief at finding Weaver among them, standing amidst the only group in this company to present a truly soldierly appearance.

  “Brother!” Frentis greeted him, running to his side. Vaelin was struck by his appearance, besmirched with blood and soot from head to toe, his sword blade stained red from end to end. However, he took comfort from his gaze, aged since he had last seen him, but steady and free of the madness that seemed to have gripped this city.

  Vaelin nodded at Weaver and the well-ordered Volarians surrounding him. “Are those Varitai?”

  “They call themselves Politai now,” Frentis said. “It means ‘unchained’ in old Volarian.”

  Vaelin glanced over his shoulder as Orven’s guards and the Sentar rode into view, the Ally among them, his posture now considerably more alert as he scanned the arena. Vaelin saw the smile playing on his lips. No need to conceal his anticipation now.

  “Unchained,” he repeated, turning back to Frentis. “As were you, brother.”

  Frentis nodded, frowning a little in puzzlement. “Lady Reva,” he said, pointing his sword at the arena. “I have sound intelligence…”

  “I know.” Vaelin climbed down from Scar’s back and drew his sword, striding towards the arena and beckoning Frentis to follow, speaking softly. “We do not have much time, so listen well…”

  All sound of battle had faded by the time he entered the arena. They had been delayed by a few Kuritai found in the maze of corridors that led them here, but the Sentar and the guardsmen were numerous and skilled enough to cut them down without difficulty. Vaelin’s gaze tracked over the surrounding terraces as he stepped out onto the sand, finding them only a third full, nervous huddles of Volarian citizenry keeping their distance from companies of Realm Guard and Cumbraelin archers. The queen stood in the centre of the arena, smiling as she exchanged words with Reva, alongside what appeared to be a monstrous ape of some kind, lying dead with a spear jutting from its back.

  Reva ran to him as he approached, her embrace fierce and warm. “Too late this time,” she chided, moving back to deliver a playful slap to his cheek.

  He nodded and forced a smile, bowing to the queen as she came to greet him. “Highness. I am glad to see you well.”

  “And you, my lord.” He found her gaze oddly cool, the unaffected smile she had shown him in the past now more considered. The greatest conquerer in Realm history, he reminded himself. More than a queen now.

  “Lady Dahrena?” she asked, her gaze tracking over the company behind him.

  He met her gaze and shook his head, seeing the brief spasm of lost composure she betrayed, her face clouding in genuine grief. “A … great loss, my lord.”

  His gaze was drawn by a choking sound behind her, seeing another body slumped next to the monstrous ape, her eyes fixed not on him but on Frentis. Her lips moved in some form of greeting, spitting blood across the sand as her hands twitched.

  “May I present Empress Elverah of the Volarian Empire,” the queen said.

  Vaelin saw how Frentis paled and shifted at his side, seemingly unable to look away from the dying woman as she continued to voice her greeting. He stared at his brother until he turned, meeting his gaze and holding it, hoping he remembered his task. Frentis gave a barely perceptible nod and turned away from the Empress, drawing a plaintive groan from her as she clawed at the sand, desperately trying to pull herself closer to him.

  “I have an introduction of my own,” Vaelin told the queen, beckoning to Orven’s guardsmen to bring the Ally.

  “Your ageless Gifted?” the queen asked, casting a critical eye over the Ally’s bound form. He returned her gaze with a distracted nod and looked up at the surrounding tiers, eyes narrowed in careful calculation.

  “Not exactly,” Vaelin said. “I don’t know his true name, but we have become accustomed to calling him the Ally.”

  “I never liked that name,” the Ally commented in a faint tone. “Perhaps, in the years to come you can compose a better one. Something more poetic. You see, I have decided to become a god.”

  Vaelin opened his mouth to command him to silence, and froze. He tried to raise his sword arm and found it immobile. He attempted to turn to Frentis but his neck refused to budge. All sensation had fled his limbs, the only movement in his chest which continued to draw breath, and his eyes which flicked about with panicked speed. He could see the queen, standing frozen with the same frown of critical scrutiny, Lord Iltis close behind her, still like a statue, as was every other living soul in sight, even those in the terraces above. The arena was silent now, save for the Empress’s dying gasps and the sound of the Ally’s soft steps on the sand as he moved closer to Vaelin, peering into his eyes.

  “You asked about my gift,” he said. “Here it is, or one of them. So many years since I wielded it in this world without need of a proxy. Not so taxing now, thanks to you and your ageless friend. See?” He angled his head, moving it from side to side. “No blood. This body will sustain me for quite some time I suspect. Perhaps until the death of this world, though I’ve no desire to see that.”

  He moved away, pausing to peer closely at Lyrna then Reva, just visible in the edges of Vaelin’s vision, as still as everyone else. “So well-made,” the Ally said, his gaze lingering on Reva. “Pity to spoil her, but this one will require a reward if she’s to continue as my dog.”

  He moved away, going to the Empress, the only body in sight not frozen, though her movements were now confined to a faint twitching. The Ally went to his knees beside her, leaning back to press the ropes around his torso to the steel claws protruding from the hand of the dead ape. He grimaced with the effort, working himself up and down several times until the bonds gave away.

  “Ahh,” the Ally breathed, standing upright and tossing Alturk’s ropes aside. “That’s better.” He flexed his arms for a brief moment then crouched to inspect the Empress, pursing his lips at the small glimmer still visible in her eye then grunting in satisfaction.

  “I have often been called arrogant,” he said, looking up at Vaelin. “And I’ll admit to a certain reluctance in admitting failure. But, so many years of awareness have given me a new appreciation for humility. I did fail, of course, and Lionen tortured me to death for it. But it was the method rather than the intent that brought me down. The method was flawed. To attempt the slaughter of every Gifted in the world by myself, even with the ability to twist sufficiently malicious souls to my purpose, was all too great a task. But I had plenty of time to ponder a new approach.”

  He bent to the sand and retrieved a fallen short sword before placing a foot under the Empress’s body and heaving her onto her back. “Why strive for the impossible?” he asked Vaelin. “When the endless greed of humanity can do it for me? It was to be the Volarians’ role, once moulded to suit my purpose. It never occurred to them why I always ensured there was never enough, no matter how many they bred in their pits, I simply gave my blessing to more of their nobility so they would always need more, compelled to expand, an empire crafted to conquer the world in search of gifted blood, driven by their hunger for eternal life. All come to nothing thanks to you and these others. The wolf’s doing, I suppose. Still, no matter.”

  He raised the sword above his head and turned to the terraces, calling out in a strident voice, “Take heed of this! The old gods are risen in me! Great power runs in my veins! Behold my blessing!”

  He moved closer to the Empress and pressed the blade of the sword to the flesh of his arm, the cut short but deep. He lowered the wound to the Empress’s face, letting the blood trickle onto her lips. At first she barely reacted, lips betraying only the slightest twitch, but soon her mouth opened wider, allowing the blood to flow into her throat as her back arched. The Ally moved away as she continued to convulse, tossing the sword aside and tearing a rag from his shirt to bind the wound.

  “Since you took my empire away,” he said to Vaelin, teeth gritted around the rag as he pulled it t
ight, “we will make another.”

  He moved closer, pausing at Lyrna’s side once more, her eyes darting about in her perfect face with frantic alarm. “She will be the Saviour Queen, come from across the ocean to deliver the Volarian people from the murderous reign of the Empress Elverah. And you”—he grinned at Vaelin—“her great and noble general. Think of the armies you will build together, the lands you will conquer. And in every land you seize you will seek out the Gifted.”

  His grin evaporated as he moved to Vaelin, all pretence of humanity falling from his face, the sheer malice of this thing revealed in a tremulous snarl. “And you will sacrifice them to your new god. It may take decades, it may be that I will have you father sons on my puppet queen so they can continue the work. But in time every Gifted on this earth will be gone, and I can finally move on.”

  He stepped closer still, voice dropped to a whisper. “The grey stones were the foundations of our greatness, receptacles of memory and wisdom, able to carry our thoughts across vast distances. With them we crafted an age of peace and wisdom, then we found the black stone and thought it another blessing. Oh the gifts it gave, my wife the power to heal, her brother the ability to pierce the mists of time. Such wondrous gifts, but not for me. For me it had a curse. Do you know what it is to live in a world of harmony, a world unmarred by greed, and possess true power? The power to command by a single touch, the power to force a man to murder. I didn’t want it, I wanted something better, something more. But the black stone only ever holds one gift, permits only one touch. For, as those who dug it from the earth discovered to their cost, touch it once and gain a gift, twice and you lose your soul.

  “So, year after year, decade after decade, I resisted my gift. I built cities, I taught, I spread wisdom across the earth, and never once did I use my gift. And my reward? A wife sacrificed to save a race of savages without the wit to even write their own name. This world, this world of flawed beasts who imagine themselves above nature. What loyalty did I owe it now? Why not take what I had been denied?