Lord of Ashes

THIRTY-ONE

She was no interrogator. Kaira had already proven that with her failure to infiltrate the Guild. It had taken a child to help her find Friedrik and then he had simply laughed in her face when she tried to question him. And yet here Kaira was, in a cold chamber beneath Skyhelm, alone with a grieving old woman.

Kaira’s guilt bit at her but she pushed it aside. Janessa had almost died in the gardens. Leon Magrida’s complicity with Amon Tugha had fooled them all, but Kaira should still have been vigilant. It was why she took this burden as her own and felt the need to question Isabelle herself.

Baroness Magrida sat in silence. The haughtiness was gone. Her arrogance evaporated with the death of her son. There was still steel there behind the cloudy eyes. Still an element of determination. She was strong, of that there was no doubt, but was she guilty of involvement in a conspiracy to murder the queen?

Janessa had said Isabelle tried to stop her son when he made his attempt at the queen’s life. Whether that was enough to prove her innocence remained to be seen.

‘You say you had no idea your son was in league with the enemy?’ Kaira asked. As much as she felt sympathy for the old woman losing her only child, she knew she couldn’t show it. ‘How can you expect us to believe such a thing? You arrived here together. Were constantly at one another’s side.’

Baroness Magrida glanced at Kaira, looking her up and down as though appraising this woman, this mere bodyguard who had come to judge her. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind. Perhaps she considered Kaira beneath her. Despite the grave situation she was in, she still considered herself a noble. But then Kaira supposed she still was. Even if she was guilty of a conspiracy to kill the queen of all the Free States she was still a Baroness of Dreldun. Still had bannermen. Still had her subjects.

‘You understand I must be sure?’ said Kaira. ‘I cannot allow you to walk free until you can prove you were not a part of this. That there are no further conspirators within the palace.’

Magrida smirked, her fingers tugging at the hem of her dress. It no longer looked as regal as it once had. Now it was dishevelled, hanging off her shoulder. The sleeve was torn, though whether it was damaged during the attack in the gardens or the old woman had done it herself out of grief and anger, Kaira could not tell.

‘My son lies dead,’ said Isabelle. ‘The only heir to the Barony of Dreldun. Its villages and farms have been burned. Its capital razed. Even if the Khurtas are defeated, the province will be plunged into anarchy and I will be the one who has to govern in the chaos.’ She fixed Kaira with a stern look, fire in her eyes. ‘Do you think I give a damn about the safety of your queen? Do you think I care if you think me guilty of treason?’

‘I think you are still a noblewoman of the Free States. Protest your innocence or admit your guilt, but say something. It’s better you tell me. Were Seneschal Rogan here with his Inquisition-’

‘He can’t hurt me and neither can you. I owe you people nothing.’

Baroness Magrida waved her hand dismissively. Kaira suddenly felt her anger rising. This woman had shown her nothing but contempt. Had shown the queen nothing but disrespect, despite being allowed to stay here and be sheltered from the roving horde. Her guilt in conspiring with the enemy may well have been in doubt, but she was certainly guilty of arrogance and conceit.

Before Kaira could press the woman further, a bell rang out from above.

At first she had no idea what it was until she heard the shouts of panic. Kaira ran from the cell, feeling her heart beat faster within her chest. Had the Khurtas breached the wall? Were they attacking the palace even now?

She rushed through the door to the cell block, past the two Sentinels who guarded the Baroness. Kaira took the stairs at a sprint, racing towards the sound of a commotion within the palace. Garret’s deep voice rumbled through the corridors as he barked orders and it took Kaira no time to find him in the entrance hall.

‘She’s bloody gone!’ he shouted as he saw Kaira.

She had no answer for him. He could only mean the queen. The horror of it sank its teeth deep. She had a hundred questions but inside she knew Garret would not be able to answer any of them.

The palace was in upheaval as every maid and manservant was raised from their beds to join the search. Kaira ran out into the front courtyard, trying desperately to think, to remain calm amidst the chaos.

She has gone to face Amon Tugha alone. She has given herself to him in order to save the city.

The thought would not leave. As much as it frightened her, Kaira knew it was the only option. If Janessa had been murdered by an assassin they would have heard of it by now. Amon Tugha would want it known throughout the city that the queen had been slain.

No, it was obvious. Janessa had heard the Elharim’s proclamation that her death would save the city and she had done the noble thing. Foolish, but noble.

A single horse was tethered in the courtyard bearing the livery of a messenger. Kaira leapt atop it. As she pressed her heels to its flanks and pulled the reins towards the main gates she heard someone shout behind her, but there was no time to stop and explain. No time to lose at all. No one knew when she had slipped out of the palace. No one knew how much time their queen might have left.

Kaira galloped out of the palace grounds, the horse’s hooves clacking against the cobbles. She drove the steed on through the Crown District, screaming at the Greencoats to let her pass. Thankfully they were in no mood to try and stop her, opening the gates in time for her to gallop through. In the waxing dawn light she could see the streets were empty and gave silent thanks to Vorena there was no one to stop her as she made her way north.

By the time she reached the Stone Gate the horse was already frothing. Kaira reined in, desperately searching for anyone who could help her. Men milled around looking dishevelled, most looked wounded in some way. She began to despair that she might have to gallop out onto the northern plain alone when she saw a glimmer of bronze armour amidst the uniforms of the city’s bannermen.

She rode along the base of the wall, hoping against hope they would be ready for battle. Her heart leapt as she saw Merrick standing amidst a group of other Wyvern Guard.

‘Ryder!’ The group turned at her call. For a moment she thought that this should remain a secret. That if word was to spread that the queen had given herself to Amon Tugha there would be panic. But if they were not in time to save her there would be panic aplenty. The time for discretion was over. ‘The queen is gone. I think she has fled the city to offer herself to the Khurtas.’

Merrick needed no further encouragement. ‘Get to the fucking horses,’ he shouted.

Before he could acknowledge her further, Kaira had already pulled the reins around and headed back to the gate. Men ran from her path as she rode through the vast archway and out onto the empty battlefield. The sun was only just beyond the horizon but there was little light yet shed on the plain to the north of the city.

As she urged her horse northwards she knew this was madness. If she was wrong, and the queen had not gone north to surrender herself, Kaira was riding alone into the heart of the enemy camp. She would be slaughtered before she even reached its edge. But if Janessa had indeed gone to give herself up to Amon Tugha, she still had to face thousands of Khurtas single-handed. There was no way this would end well.

Arlor is strength. Vorena is courage.

Those words, which had helped her so many times in the past, seemed to do little now. She was going to die and so was the queen, no matter what she did. The folly of it almost made her furious but she could not afford to be angered. She had to fight, to be in control. She had to die as a Sentinel of Skyhelm … as a Shieldmaiden of Vorena.

As Kaira reached the edge of the camp she urged her horse up a ridge, at any moment expecting screaming Khurtic sentries to come charging from the shadows, but there was no one there to guard the camp’s southern extent. The madness of galloping straight into the enemy’s maw filled her with determination. Her sword was in her hand now, and she was eager to strike.

The encampment was dimly lit but still Kaira could see no one. Even with the sun finally peeking over the hills to the east she could spot no enemies. Then, ahead, she saw the gathered crowd.

Her heart sank as she rode. Janessa could already be dead, could already have been executed by the gathered savages, but there were only murmurings amongst the horde, not the cheers she would have expected. A whisper of hope in the dark morning.

Her steed was no destrier but still she urged it on. The Khurtas to the rear of the crowd had enough time to turn and spot her as she galloped towards them, but no time to move from her path. The stallion rode them down. Kaira’s sword flashed in the dawn light. There were screams from her horse, cries of pain and anger from the Khurtas. A roar went up that made her heart sink and then she was through.

In the clearing at the centre of the crowd, Kaira saw Amon Tugha for the first time. He was formidable, of that there was no doubt, but Kaira was undeterred. She had come to die. All that mattered was how she did it.

From the corner of her eye she saw Janessa kneeling on the ground at the Elharim’s feet, her mass of red curls unmistakable.

But Kaira was focused on only one man.

She raised her sword, crying Vorena’s name as she hurtled straight for him. The massive spear in the warlord’s hand thrust forward, impaling the charging horse through the chest and halting its gallop. Kaira went down with the screeching steed, rolling clear as she did so.

She was on her feet in an instant. Her weapon lost. A Khurta ran from the crowd, attempting to skewer her on his own spear, but she twisted, wrenching the weapon from his grip and spinning it deftly, the spearhead taking him in the throat.

Kaira’s eyes were wide to the danger now. Khurtas were crowded all around and they moved forward, their weapons drawn, hunger in their eyes.

Amon Tugha raised his arm, speaking in the guttural Khurtic tongue before hauling his weapon from deep within the dead stallion’s body. He held out a hand and beckoned for Kaira to come forward. A silent challenge between warriors.

This was how she would die. At the hands of the Elharim warlord, defending the life of her queen, no matter how forlorn her chance of victory.

It would be a good death.

As she stepped forward, as though heralding her final battle, the ground began to tremble.