Queen of Fire

Verniers’ Account

Despite the stubbiness of his fingers Raulen had a fine, flowing script the equal of any scribe. Also, his reading voice was similarly accomplished, reciting my recently dictated words in even tones free of any stumbles. “‘… and so it came to pass that Queen Lyrna Al Nieren walked once more on the soil of her beloved homeland,’” he read. “‘And terrible would be her vengeance.’”

“Very good, Raulen,” I said. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He rose from the stool and went to the cell door. “Same time tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow my trial begins,” I reminded him.

“Yes,” he sighed, pausing at the door and forcing a smile. “No doubt this great work will be complete when your innocence is proved.”

“No doubt.” I returned the smile, grateful for his artifice.

“Even your gaolers are scholars,” Fornella observed after the heavy door had slammed shut, leaving us alone. She sat on her narrow bunk, surrounded by bundles of parchment. With little else to occupy her during the long months of our shared captivity, she had taken on the translating of my manuscript into Volarian, despite full knowledge it would most likely remain unfinished.

My gaze tracked over her now almost all-white hair, tied back from her face into a tight bun. In recent weeks the skin on her scalp and hands had developed faint red spots and the lines around her eyes grew ever deeper, though she bore it all without complaint. Despite the many messages I asked Raulen to convey to every Imperial official I could recall, she had never once been allowed out of this cell to relate the warning she held. Our journey was indeed an abject failure and it seemed the survival of this empire now depended entirely on Queen Lyrna’s vengeful designs. An absurd hope, I knew. For all her wits, and Al Sorna’s martial cunning, the Volarian Empire was monstrous. It requires an empire to destroy an empire, I concluded, reaching for pen and parchment to write it down.

“Something to aid your defence, I hope,” Fornella said, glancing up from her own work.

“I have no defence, save the truth. And that will avail me nothing now.” The Empress, in her wisdom and benevolence, had sent no less than six learned counsel to act on my behalf at trial. All experienced legal scholars of impeccable reputation and, I saw clearly in their faces, absolutely no hope or expectation of securing my acquittal. I had listened to them all politely before releasing them from their duty with an assertion I would be conducting my own defence, much to their evident relief.

“The girl was lying,” Fornella went on. “The blindest fool can see that.”

“And were I to be judged by a jury of blind fools, I might have a chance. But there will be but one juror, and she is far from blind. However, even she cannot deny my right to speak following conviction. I can only hope there are ears to hear the warning.”

Despite my continued calm, a calm that I confess still baffles me, sleep eluded me that night. I had spent the evening arranging my manuscript and penning an outline for Raulen regarding the completion of the final chapters. He had agreed to take copies to a select few scholars of my prior acquaintance, though I harboured suspicions that those who didn’t immediately burn it might seek to claim it as their own work. Another copy would be conveyed to Brother Harlick in Varinshold, where at least it would receive a home in the Great Library he hoped to rebuild. As the small, barred window above my bed grew dark I took a quill and scrawled the words “A History of the Unified Realm” on a blank sheet of parchment, a little chagrined that my script wasn’t near so elegant as Raulen’s, and placed it atop the neatly arranged bundle.

I lay back on my bunk seeking rest I knew would elude me and pondering a particular point of scholarly regret. I never heard Al Sorna’s full account.

Somewhere past midnight, my half doze was interrupted by a faint creaking sound. I rose, blinking in the gloom and feeling my heartbeat lurch at the sight of the cell door slowly swinging open.

She decided not to wait for a trial, I concluded as my perennial calm dissolved and I cast about desperately for some kind of weapon. However Raulen was too diligent a gaoler to allow a prisoner any implement beyond the small wooden candlestick I wrote by.

I expected Hevren, or more likely some anonymous Imperial servant suitably skilled in crafting convincing suicide from murder. Instead the door swung open to reveal a slender form in a black dress, her eyes wide and fearful as she beckoned to me with desperate urgency. Jervia.

For a second I could only stare in amazement as she continued to beckon, her movements becoming frantic, then I swung myself off the bunk, dressing quickly and moving to Fornella. Over the weeks she had slept more soundly than I, either through the rapid onset of age or a salved conscience. In either case it took several attempts to wake her and several more to coax her from the bed.

“Why is she here?” she whispered, a deep frown on her wrinkled brow as she regarded Jervia fidgeting in the corridor.

“I don’t know,” I said, returning to my bunk to pull on my shoes. “However, we are provided with an open door, and I intend to use it.”

Jervia put a hand over my mouth as I came to the doorway, forestalling my whispered questions, moving away and gesturing for me to follow. I glanced back at Fornella, now dressed but no less suspicious. “I’m not sure I can run,” she murmured, coming to my side and taking my hand.

I led her along the corridor, past the other cells, all empty I noted, to where Jervia waited at the barred gate. I came to a rigid halt at the sight of Raulen, standing aside and holding the gate open.

“It’s all right,” Jervia whispered. “He doesn’t see us.”

I stepped closer to the gaoler, taking in the sight of his features, the eyes focused but not on me, a fond smile on his lips; the face of a man viewing a long-cherished sight.

“You did this,” I murmured to Jervia, sliding past Raulen’s bulk to come to her side.

She gave a nervous smile. “His daughter died at Marbellis. I gave her back to him.”

Gifted, I realised, glancing back at the gaoler and gaining a new appreciation for his sense of duty. All those years with the Hopekiller in his grasp and he never sought vengeance.

“It won’t last,” Jervia said, tugging at my sleeve.

She led me through Raulen’s meagre quarters and into the only slightly more ornate north wing of the palace; a series of storerooms and living quarters where the army of Imperial servants slept. We encountered only two guards, all wearing the same expression of focused delusion as Raulen. I saw Jervia wipe her cuff across her face as we moved on, noting the dark smear of blood on her skin and wondering how much strain she endured to facilitate this escape.

We stole through the courtyard in a crouch, though the pair of guards on the northern gate showed no sign of having noticed our passing. “We must hurry,” Jervia said, making for the grassland beyond the road. “The illusions will fade soon.”

“The road…” I began but she shook her head.

“Too well guarded, my lord. I have a rope placed on the cliff, and a boat waiting on the river.”

“I…” Fornella gasped, coming to halt, features sagging in the scant moonlight. “I can’t.”

“It’s not far…”

“Leave me,” she groaned, doubling over and sinking to her knees, drawing air into her lungs in ragged heaves.

“My lord!” Jervia implored.

I leaned down, putting a hand around Fornella shoulders, frowning at the sight of her face, eyes alert with warning and free of fatigue. “It’s him,” she breathed. “The Messenger. I know his stink.”

I straightened, meeting Jervia’s gaze, seeing only a scared young woman forced to a courageous act. “A moment please,” I said. “She grows older by the day.”

Jervia gave a reluctant nod, eyes darting about constantly for any sign of pursuit.

“Tell me,” I said. “What threats did the Empress make to coerce your testimony?”

Her face showed a pained grimace. “Father was arrested on charges of treason. It happened when word began to reach us of what had transpired in the Unified Realm.”

“She knew my return would be imminent, and prepared her trap accordingly.”

“I expect so.”

“And that ridiculous story about the sword?”

“Invented by Lord Velsus, at the Empress’s behest. I had no choice, my lord.”

“Of course.” I squeezed Fornella’s shoulder and moved away, keeping a distance from our rescuer. “I have known Lord Velsus for close to twenty years,” I said. “He’s an arrogant, self-regarding, judgemental bully. But he’s never been a liar, as I expect he lacks the imagination for deceit.”

She said nothing, but I saw how her eyes narrowed and her hand reached into the fold of her dress.

“You played your part very well,” I said, continuing to move away from Fornella, Jervia pivoting to match my every step, the muscles of her forearm bunching at she gripped something tight. “So reluctant and contrite, bound to win my trust when you came to open my cell door. When did it happen? Was it when the Red Hand took you?”

Her eyes flicked to Fornella, now groaning as her grey head lolled forward, then turning back to me with a different face. It was as if she had contrived some magician’s trick, switching the face of a sweet, brave maiden for something altogether older, its malice plain in every coarsened line and the twisted sneer of her lips. “When last we met you were not so courageous,” she said, Jervia’s well-spoken vowels moulded into something harsher, and familiar.

“Courage?” I gave a very soft laugh. “I find courage is just another of life’s illusions. In the end, we all do what we must.”

“Very profound. And true. For tonight you must walk off a cliff, having effected an escape by use of foul magics, no doubt learned from your friends in the north. Perhaps it was guilt that made you do it, or it could have been a final act of defiance. A refusal to allow the Empress just recompense for all your dreadful deeds. I’m sure scholars will ponder the question for years to come.”

“Don’t you ever grow tired of this? All these years spent in murder and cruelty? Don’t you want to be more than a slave to a monster?”

“Slave?” The crooked bow of her lips parted in a laugh. “He did not enslave me. These many years in his service have never been a punishment. Every life taken, every seed of chaos sown, my just reward, for this world deserves all the havoc I can wreak upon it. With you gone to your deserved end the Empress’s gaze will inevitably turn north, where the Unified Realm lies barren of much of its strength as their queen pursues her mad vendetta across the ocean. Why do you think she gathers her fleet?”

“Spurred to do so by more of your lies, I assume?”

“She finds much wisdom in my counsel, and in time, so will her brat. I’ve just about convinced her the practice of choosing an heir from among the populace is an archaic, even unwise tradition. Who better to rule than a child born to those who know the burdens of power? A child born to an Empress and a Hope no less.”

I took an involuntary step towards her, fists bunching in fury. “That boy is not for you.”

Her hand came free of her dress, the knife it held glittering in the moonlight as she dropped to a crouch, forcing me to stop. “That boy will complete the ruin of the Unified Realm and go on to conquer the Volarian Empire,” she said. “His children will build a mighty fleet to carry Alpiran civilisation to all corners of the world. Is that not a prospect to rejoice at, my lord? Your lover certainly did.”

I took another forward step and she lunged, the blade flashing just close enough to force me back. “You’re a liar!” I raged.

She laughed, shrill and delighted. “He was such a clever fellow. So well-read, and fascinated by the opportunities offered by those with singular gifts. We didn’t corrupt him, Verniers. We didn’t seduce him. He came to us, but, as ever, Al Sorna’s blade contrived to complicate our plans.”

I charged at her, my rage dispelling all reason, uncaring of the knife. She danced aside, lithe and quick as any dancer. “If you don’t believe me,” she said, spinning to a stop and gesturing towards the cliff-top. “Why not ask him?”

I was about to lunge for her again but stopped as something shimmered into view in the blackness beyond the cliff, something that flared into blinding white fire for a moment before swirling into a familiar form.

I stood frozen, my eyes playing over his face, all thought fleeing my mind save one. “Seliesen.”

He stood there, smiling the smile I knew so well, clad in the simple robes he preferred to wear in private, the robes in fact he had been wearing the last time I saw him. It would be preferable, and dishonest, to record that I had no inkling this was an illusion, that I was completely deluded and my reason undone by the wicked precision of the Messenger’s stolen gift. But, I knew this to be a phantom, I knew I was being lured to my death as I rushed towards the cliff-top calling his name. And I simply didn’t care.

He vanished as I came to within a foot of the edge, flickering like a candle-flame caught in the wind before being snuffed. I shouted in grief and bitter defeat, sinking to my knees and calling out into the uncaring dark. The only reply was the soft hiss of the wind through the grass.

I turned at a hard, choking sound behind me, seeing Fornella pull a knife free of Jervia’s neck, releasing a fine spray of blood as she held her upright. “You should’ve taken the gaoler’s knife,” she muttered before casting the body away with a grimace.

She sank to her knees as I approached, fatigue obvious and unfeigned now, her smile forced and small. “I owed you a life, did I not, my lord?”

I went to the body, fighting nausea and heaving it upright, proffering the still-gushing wound to her. “Drink,” I said.

She watched the blood flow with detached interest for a second, then looked away. “No.”

“It will restore you…”

“I am already restored. Please take that thing from my sight.”

I let the corpse slip from my arms and moved to her, catching her before she could fall. She lay back against me, her breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. “It will be morning soon,” she whispered.

I could see only a faint glimmer on the horizon — dawn would be hours in coming — but still I held her close, and whispered, “Yes,” into her ear.

I heard the soft tramping of boots on grass, a full company from the sound of it, but didn’t bother to turn as a large, soldierly form came to a halt at my side.

“So,” I said, “the Empress never believed her.”

Hevren paused before replying, an edge of discomfort in his tone. “She was curious to see what would transpire.”

“Well, I trust this satisfies her curiosity.”

“Your innocence will be proclaimed in the morning. For now, she demands your presence…”

“Later.” I held Fornella closer, feeling only the faint, diminishing flutter of her heart as her grey hair played over my face. “My friend and I wish to stay a while and watch the sun rise.”

CHAPTER ONE Vaelin

He became fully human as Reva led them down into the bowels of the arena, like any other man facing his end; begging one moment, bargaining the next, his temper flaring into brief, unreasoning defiance. “You think you visit justice upon me? This is simply vengeance… You do not know what I suffered… I know many things, I have great wisdom, wisdom any queen would be grateful for… Don’t you know what I am? What I have done! You are the merest speck on my greatness…”

He fell silent on seeing the black stone sitting amidst its silent companions, Reva’s torch painting a yellow gleam on its edges. “You…” the Ally choked, shaking as he forced the words out, “You think to destroy me with this? You… You will be making me a gift of more power…” His words were given the lie by the way he shied from the stone, twisting in Frentis’s grip.

Lyrna cast her gaze over the statues before stepping between them, providing Vaelin an unwelcome reminder of her father as she surveyed the black stone with owl-like scrutiny. “You say this was dug from the Northern Reaches?” she asked him.

“Yes, Highness. Thousands of years ago.”

“So there may be more?”

“The seer made no mention of it. However, it was clear to me he thought it best left buried.”

The queen gave a slight nod, her gaze moving across the statues until it rested on the bearded man. “This is truly him?” she asked with a dubious glance at the Ally, who had begun to whimper.

“Yes, Highness.”

“How far we can fall,” she mused softly, eyes returning to the noble lines of the bearded man’s face, “if we surrender to malice.” She turned back to the stone, gesturing for Frentis to bring the Ally.

He railed. He screamed. He struggled, collapsing and clawing at the floor with his nails, obliging Vaelin to assist his brother in dragging him to the stone where he thrashed himself to exhaustion, eventually sagging between them, head lowered as he wept piteous sobs. “Just,” he gasped, “Just kill me… All my gifts are gone, the Beyond will not snare me.”

“That would require the death of the body you stole,” Vaelin replied. “And I made a promise to its owner.”

“You are a fool!” The Ally’s head snapped up, spittle flying as he lurched at Vaelin. “You don’t know what this thing is!”

“A gateway to another place, somewhere I suspect you will be more at home.”

“You don’t understand.” His eyes widened as they played over the smooth surface of the stone, unblinking, fixed in terror, his voice dropping to a grating whisper. “When I touched it, when I received my gift, I looked into that world… and something looked back, something vast, and hungry.”

Vaelin looked at the Ally’s sweat-covered face, his unblinking eyes, seeing no vestige of a lie. He began to demand clarification but Lyrna reached out to take hold of the Ally’s wrist. “Then let’s feed it,” she said, slamming his hand to the stone.

There was no sound, no glimmer of light from the blank depths of the stone, not even the faintest change to the musty air of the chamber. The Ally gave a short intake of breath then froze, Vaelin seeing the light fade from his eyes, features soon becoming slack, devoid of all animation.

They held him in place a moment longer, Lyrna’s gaze searching the empty features of what had been Erlin’s face. Vaelin released him and stood back, Frentis and Lyrna also retreating from the still and silent man as his hand slid limp to his side.

“Well,” Reva said, tapping her boot against the stone. “What do we do with it?”

“The mountain folk will not be so friendly this time.”

“Rather them than the big water.” Alturk threw a blanket across his horse’s back and settled the saddlebags over it. The Tahlessa moved with a noticeable limp these days, alleviated slightly by the salve Brother Kehlan had provided to anoint his wound, the only gift he would accept from the Merim Her. “And we have him to speak for us.” Alturk jerked his head at Lekran, bidding farewell to Frentis a few strides away.

The former Kuritai had caused something of a stir when presented to the queen the day before, failing to bow and instead making a formal declaration of love and proposal of marriage. She had listened patiently to his lengthy list of victories, his apologies for not providing the heads as proof, and confident assurance that, should she agree to the union, he would happily kill the requisite number of enemies in less than five years, his life being forfeit should he fail.

“Only a thousand?” she had asked, breaking the tense silence that followed. “Make it three and I’ll deign to consider it. In the interim you can have a captaincy in my guard and I’ll make you ambassador to your people. Go back to the mountains and tell them the slaving days are over and we’ll pay a fair price for whatever metals they care to sell us.”

“You truly intend to brave the ice once more?” Vaelin asked Alturk.

“The shaman says it’s easier in summer months. And it will make a fine story.” He tightened a strap on the horse’s bridle and paused. “She was a good woman,” he said. “I will be proud to tell her story and have it placed in the Mahlessa’s library. For she was Lonak, and we should not forget our kind, whatever names they choose.”

Vaelin stood back as the Tahlessa climbed onto his horse, hefting his war club. “Thank you.”

Alturk looked down at him, eyes arch beneath his heavy brows. “One day…” he began.

“The Lonak will sweep the Merim Her into the sea,” Vaelin finished. “I know.”

“No.” Alturk shook his head. “One day the Lonak will fade, scattered and slaughtered in war or our blood mixed with the Merim Her until our stories are forgotten. It will be so with the Seordah, the Eorhil, the ice people and the mountain folk. I see it now. The Mahlessa has been trying to shield us from our fate, we have become like stones clinging to a mountainside. But the mountains always shake, and the stones always fall.”

Vaelin watched him ride away, the Sentar closing in alongside as they took the Northern Road.

“Come with us.” He turned to find Wise Bear sitting astride Iron Claw, bone-staff in hand. “This place is bad, full of stink and heat, and too far from the green fire.”

“I’ll see you at the Mirror Sound before long,” Vaelin told him but Wise Bear just smiled, clicking something in his unfathomable tongue as Iron Claw lumbered towards the road.

Mishara came to nuzzle at his hand as Kiral stood close by and Astorek waited amidst his wolves. She offered no embrace, nor even a smile, her scar rendered near invisible in the bright sunlight. Davoka stood nearby, head lowered and arms folded. Their farewell had been lengthy and not without rancour.

“My song is varied when I look at you,” Kiral said eventually. “I hear so many different notes now, as if it doesn’t know what path you will take. Some are bright, some dark. It was not so when we first met.”

Mishara gave a final lick to his hand and bounded off in Iron Claw’s tracks, the bear issuing an irritated growl as she nipped playfully at his rump. “When I see you again I hope it will be clearer,” Vaelin told Kiral, glancing at Astorek, who gave a cheery wave, his wolves breaking into an instant chorus of howls. “I am glad your song guided you to happiness.”

“It will be good to hunt again,” she said, pausing to offer a final glance to Davoka before climbing onto her horse. He watched as the dust of their passing faded on the Northern Road, though the wolves could still be heard long after.

“I promised I would return,” Frentis said, hefting his pack. “Even though it was a promise made to a man now dead. And Aspect Arlyn has directed me to establish a joint mission house with the Fifth Order.”

Still they cling to it, Vaelin thought, following Frentis along the wharf. Despite all the knowledge gained, the Faith remains and seeks to grow.

“Besides,” Frentis continued. “I feel the queen would be more comfortable with me gone.”

Vaelin could find no argument to this point; the queen remained icy in his brother’s presence and he knew she recalled his final words to the Empress all too well. However, as the principal architect of what was fast becoming known as the Great Liberation, Frentis’s status among the freed population had increased to near-mythic proportions. Everywhere, former slaves would pause to bow to him, some running to his side with fervent thanks and offerings. Nor were all his admirers slaves; many free citizens had witnessed him fighting to save them from the Arisai.

“You know there is always a place for you in the Reaches,” Vaelin said. “Should you ever tire of the Order.”

“That day will never come, brother. I think you know that.” Frentis paused a short distance from the gangplank, glancing up at the collection of expectant faces arrayed along the ship’s rail. Sister Illian, regarding Vaelin with a somewhat stern visage. The hairy captain exchanging a ribald joke with the former slave. And mad Master Rensial, balancing on crutches and frowning at Vaelin as if seeking to recall his name. He has his own Order now, Vaelin decided, a pang of envy mingling with satisfaction in his breast.

“Kiral said you tried to save her,” Vaelin said. “The Empress.”

“We once murdered our way across an empire and killed a king,” Frentis replied. “And yet I was saved. Why not her?”

“She was monstrous. Brother Hollun estimates near half a million people died at her command.”

“She was what she was made.” His hand went to his shirt, feeling for scars that no longer existed. “As was I. In my heart I know she could have been made… better.”

He gave a tight smile and they embraced. “My regards to your sister,” Frentis said, drawing away and stepping onto the gangplank, pausing once more. “The dreams still come, brother. Not every night, but most. She comes to me and I find she is easier to bear now.”

He smiled again and ascended to the ship, the last of the faith-hounds jumping in excitement to lick his face as he stepped onto the deck and disappeared from sight.

The queen held court in what had been the house of Council-man Arklev, a sizeable mansion with extensive grounds that benefited from a tall surrounding wall and a large audience chamber. A small army of clerks laboured in the mansion’s many rooms to deal with the copious correspondence generated by an empire that now found itself part of a Realm. The issues were many and varied, from famine in the south to declarations of secession in the east where some Volarian military strength had contrived to linger, apparently due to the pragmatic attitude of the provincial governor who had taken his forces on protracted manoeuvres, thereby avoiding Imperial messengers bearing his death-warrant.

Over the weeks since the city’s fall the queen had faced a continual stream of petitioners, dozens at first, then hundreds. Various rebel groups sought recognition, representatives from the more quiescent towns and cities demanded protection from less placid neighbours and, most of all, merchants came with generous offers for exclusive trading concessions.

Vaelin was met at the chamber door by Lady Lieza, saved from the arena and now elevated to the queen’s side by virtue of her skill with correspondence, not to mention an intimate knowledge of the varied laws and customs of this newly conquered land.

“The queen bids you enter immediately, my lord,” the lady said in her rapidly improving Realm Tongue.

“How many today?” he asked as she bade the guards to open the door.

Lieza gave a tense smile. “Just one.”

The queen was speaking as he entered, her tone surprising in the anger it held. “And your Empress expects me to simply agree to this without negotiation?”

Lord Verniers seemed to have aged since Vaelin last saw him, though he also appeared to stand a little straighter now and displayed scant reaction to the queen’s ire. “She does you the courtesy of informing you of her actions, Highness,” he said. “And sees no scope for conflict in this matter.”

He fell silent at Vaelin’s entry, pausing to offer a shallow bow of welcome.

“Lord Vaelin,” the queen greeted him. “Lord Verniers, it seems, has gained stature since leaving us. May I present the Alpiran Ambassador to the Unified Realm.”

“Congratulations, my lord,” Vaelin told Verniers, returning the bow.

“He comes to tell me one of my own cities is now in the hands of his Empress,” the queen continued.

“Verehl was an Alpiran city long before the Volarian Empire even existed, Highness,” Verniers responded. “And I should point out its capture occurred whilst your war was still ongoing. The actions of an ally, in truth.”

“An ally would have sailed her fleet into the Cut and helped take this city, not steal another.” Lyrna rose from her throne, approaching Verniers, face tense with anger. “Does your Empress have any notion of the army I now command? Of the nature of the sword I wield? I took an empire in the space of a few months. Had I a mind to, I could take a world.”

“Highness…” Vaelin began but she waved him to silence, moving away and sighing in frustration. “I find, Lord Verniers, it would be best if you came back tomorrow, when my temper will be better suited to diplomacy. Lord Vaelin, you will stay. We have military matters to discuss.”

Vaelin touched a hand to Verniers’ sleeve as he bowed and made for the door. “The Volarian woman?”

Verniers took a deliberate step back from him, face unchanged as he said, “She died.”

“I’m sorry. We had intelligence there was an agent of the Ally in Alpira…”

“It died too.” Verniers bowed again and walked from the chamber.

“What do you think?” Vaelin turned to find the queen greeting him with a smile, her anger abruptly vanished. “A little overdramatic, perhaps?”

“I’m sure Your Highness knows best how to deal with an ambassador.”

“Actually, it’s a skill I’m having to learn with some rapidity. So, do you think we should retake Verehl?”

“The decision is not mine to make, Highness. And you have a Battle Lord to advise on the practicalities of such an undertaking.”

“I don’t need Al Hestian to tell me it would be impossible, not for another year at least. Verehl sits on the southern coast, a fairly unpleasant place by all accounts, surrounded by jungle and subject to yearly storms of legendary ferocity. Its only value comes from the spice trade, contributing less than one-half of one-hundredth to the Imperial treasury. I suspect Empress Emeren seeks to test me, baiting a trap to see if I’ll bite.”

“Given the animosity between our peoples, a city of little value seems a small price to pay to heal the rift.”

She gave a small laugh, shaking her head and moving back to her throne. “Always the peacemaker, even now.”

“I hoped Your Highness had called me here to discuss my petition.”

“Indeed I did, though it suited me to add a little theatre for Lord Verniers.” She settled onto the throne, accepting a cup of water from Iltis. “You want to go home.”

“With my sister, yes.”

Lyrna’s face clouded a little as she drank. “Lady Alornis is… improving I hear.”

“She has nightmares every time she sleeps and, when awake, tinkers constantly with the engines she built on your behalf. They grow more deadly by the day, she tells me. She seems keen to see them at work. I am not.”

“We agreed this war had to be won, Vaelin, and we all gave much in the winning. Your sister more than most, for which I’m sorry. But she is a grown woman and I never forced her to any action.”

“Nevertheless, my petition stands, and I request your answer.”

She turned to Iltis, handing him the cup and requesting he leave them alone. “You will require a new commander for the North Guard,” she said when the Lord Protector had withdrawn. “Lord Adal has petitioned to be released from your service.”

Vaelin nodded in grim acceptance. Imparting news of Dahrena’s death to Adal had been a hard trial, made worse by the man’s rigid composure and clipped response to every question. Though the accusation on his face as he bowed and withdrew was plain enough. She would have lived if she had loved him instead.

“I trust you will find him suitable employment,” he told the queen.

“Indeed. I’m minded to create an East Guard for my new dominions. War has left us with many able hands to fill the ranks and who better to command them?”

“A fine choice, Highness. I would request Lord Orven as his replacement.”

“As you wish, subject to his agreement. I believe he has earned the right to choose his commands.”

Lyrna rose once again and went to the window. Council-man Arklev’s home stood on a hill offering a fine view of the harbour, still crowded with the fleet, though somewhat diminished now. The Shield had sailed away two days after the city’s fall, taking with him perhaps a tenth of the Meldeneans. There were rumours of a fractious dispute with the Fleet Lord, of challenges made and sabres drawn, though Lord Ell-Nurin seemed unhurt when Vaelin next saw him, bowing low to the queen as she gave him a sword, and a grant of land on the south Asraelin coast.

“Do you remember the night we met?” she asked.

“You surprised me, I threw a knife at you.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I kept it. It saved my life in fact.”

“I’m glad.”

“There was a question I asked you then, one I won’t ask you again, since both question and answer are now redundant. But, I’ve always been curious, did you ever regret saying no?”

Her hair was fully grown now, he saw, longer than it had ever been, a golden cascade in the light from the window. And her face, the porcelain perfection enhanced by the few small lines of experience and the keen intellect shining from her eyes, no longer subject to any constraint.

“Of course,” he lied. “What man wouldn’t?”

Weaver stood among the Politai, speaking in low but earnest tones as they clustered around. They were more animated than Vaelin had seen them before, many speaking up to interrupt, faces betraying distinct emotions, ranging from sadness to anger. The more recently freed stood on the fringes, frowning in bafflement but keeping close to their brothers. Frentis said it was always the way with them, an inability to be alone or tolerate the company of those not of their kind.

Did we free something? Vaelin wondered. Or unleash it?

After more than an hour of discussion Weaver finally called a halt and the Politai began to disperse back to the surrounding houses they occupied. This district had been thoroughly depopulated by the Arisai, leaving copious empty dwellings, although the former Varitai chose to live a dozen or more to each house.

“They didn’t seem happy,” Vaelin observed as Weaver came to take a seat on the bench next to him.

“They know there are other Varitai still in bondage in some places,” the healer replied. “Freeing all of their brothers has become something of a sacred mission.”

“One the queen has given her word to complete.”

“Without me.”

“Her reasoning is sound…”

“And I don’t dispute it. The Ally’s gift is a terrible thing.”

Vaelin’s gaze tracked over Weaver’s sturdy frame, knowing he now looked upon possibly the most powerful being in the world. He found some comfort from his expression, as open and free of calculation as he had ever been. “Have you used it?” he asked. “Since the arena.”

Weaver shook his head. “I feel it though, roiling away inside me like a simmering pool.”

“And Erlin’s gift?”

“Time alone will tell. What accommodations has the queen arranged for me in the Realm?”

“The war left many estates vacant, you will have a wide selection to choose from.”

“An honour indeed, to choose one’s own prison.”

Vaelin said nothing, unwilling to voice a lie. “The ship leaves with the morning tide,” he said, getting to his feet and offering his hand. Weaver blinked in surprise. Since the Arena, few who knew of the events there had been willing to talk to him, and certainly not risk his touch. His expression remained unchanged, but his voice held a new edge of certainty as he took the hand and shook it.

“I won’t be there to meet it, my lord. As I suspect you know, since you chose to come here alone with no guards to enforce the Queen’s Word.”

Vaelin gripped his hand tighter, holding it for a moment longer before letting go. “Where will you go?”

“There are a few corners of the world Erlin never visited. And I’ve a yen to hear the song of the Jade Princess with my own ears.”

“You have Erlin’s memories?”

“In a manner of speaking. Much of his knowledge resides in me, but not how he acquired it. So much slips away as the years pass.”

“So you also have the Ally’s knowledge?”

Weaver’s expression became markedly more clouded. “More than I would like.”

“He spoke of the wolf. I would know what he meant.”

“He meant…” Weaver frowned, struggling to find the right words. “He meant there’s a reason why you’re willing to let me go. He meant that we are all, regardless of what gifts we may possess, very small and brief lights upon this earth. The difference is I am happy to accept it, he never was.”

He got to his feet and started back towards the house he shared with the Politai. “Please give my regards to the queen,” he said, pausing at the door, “and, when she sends assassins to follow my trail, tell her to be sure to choose well.”

He watched Reva from the bow of the ship, needing no song to discern what passed between her and Lady Lieza as they embraced on the quay. The girl drew back, head bowed and fighting tears as she moved to the queen’s side. Reva made her final bows and ascended to the ship with her tall guardsman at her back, the assembled Realm Guard lifting their weapons in salute and voicing a shout that echoed across the harbour.

“Louder than the one you got, brother,” Nortah observed with a grin.

“I think she earned it.”

“My lot didn’t even come to see me off. Probably still squabbling over their list of rightful demands for the queen.”

“Rightful demands?”

“Yes, they want to choose their own officers, an end to land ownership and the right to appoint the queen’s councillors. Can you imagine? Faith save us from the newly freed.”

Vaelin joined Reva at the stern as the ship made its way through the narrow harbour mouth, the walled moles thick with cheering people, their words meaningless to him but she was able to discern a few. “Livella is reborn,” she murmured, watching the torrent of flowers arc into their wake. “Perhaps Varulek will get his gods back after all.”

“Varulek?” he asked.

“A dead man, and servant to dead gods.” She surveyed the cheering throng as they drew away, the helmsman taking them into the Cut as the captain ordered the sails for a westward tack, towards the distant ocean. “Not long ago many of these would have been screaming for my death in the arena. Now they rejoice at my survival.”

“They are not alone.” Vaelin glanced at the young guardsman, standing at a respectful distance, his gaze rarely straying from the Blessed Lady. “It seems you have your own Iltis.”

“I offered Guardsman Varesh a boon for his service.” Reva gave the youth a somewhat strained smile. “All he asked was to stay at my side. I’m minded to find other employment for him when we get home.”

Vaelin turned to regard the three hulking troop-ships now pulling away from the quayside, each laden with Cumbraelins. A few had elected to stay, lured by the generous pay the queen offered for experienced archers, but most chose to follow the Blessed Lady home. “Lord Antesh has already begun to quote from the Eleventh Book I hear.”

“He has recovered much of his fervour since Alltor,” she said. “And more since coming here. I think I preferred him jaded. The world might be a better place were it ruled by disappointed souls.”

“Shouldn’t you write that down? The Blessed Lady’s wisdom should not be wasted on a heretic.”

She gave short laugh then lowered her gaze, her voice taking on a sorrowful pitch. “I told Antesh it had all been a great lie. Never once in my life have I heard the Father’s voice. Not during the siege and not here. He said, ‘You are the Father’s voice, my lady.’”

Her eyes went to Alornis, busy tending to the engine on the starboard rail. Apparently it could spit flame, with fearsome results if the accounts Vaelin had heard were true. Alornis seemed incapable of leaving it alone, her deft hands removing the various plates to explore its mysterious insides, her face rapt, uncaring of anything else.

“I’d happily tip that thing into the sea,” he said. “But these devices of hers are the only thing that brings any life to her eyes.”

“Then let’s discover why.” Reva went to crouch at Alornis’s side, watching her work for a moment before asking a question. Vaelin expected his sister to ignore her, as she often ignored him, but instead she seemed to become enthused, hands moving with passionate animation as she pointed to the machine’s innards, explaining each pipe and spigot in detail as Reva nodded encouragement.

He watched them for a time, seeing his sister relax, even voicing a laugh or two, then found his gaze drawn inexorably to the canvas-wrapped bulk lashed to the mainmast. The queen’s instructions had been clear, lacking any ambiguity, but still he found the questions plagued him. What do we do with it?

“I couldn’t save him, brother!”

He had been called from his cabin by the third mate to find Nortah reeling about the deck, wine bottle in hand. The swell had increased as night fell and they drew into what the sailors called “the Boraelin mountains,” a region renowned for tall waves and vicious storms. The wind was certainly harsh tonight, though not quite a gale it still managed to lash the deck with hard, driving rain.

“Killed a dozen of those red bastards,” Nortah railed, “fought the Aspect himself, and still I couldn’t save him!”

He stumbled as the deck lurched anew, staggering towards the port rail and nearly tipping over. “Stop this!” Vaelin caught hold of him, drawing him back and catching hold of the rigging.

“Killing.” Nortah laughed, lifting his arms and shouting to the rain-filled sky. “Only thing I was ever good for. Just cos you hate a thing doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it. Wasn’t enough though. He still died.”

“He died saving you,” Vaelin told him, holding him tight as he sought to break free. “So you could see your wife again. So you could hold your children again.”

Nortah subsided at the mention of his family, head slumping as the wine bottle fell from his limp hand and rolled away. “They killed my cat,” he mumbled. “Have to go home without my cat.”

“I know, brother.” Vaelin patted his soaked head and tried to pull him upright. A cloaked figure emerged from belowdecks, coming to his side to assist in lifting the now-passed-out Lord Marshal. Together they took him below, laying him in his cabin.

“My thanks,” Vaelin offered to the cloaked figure.

“From what I gather,” Erlin said, drawing back his hood, “this man deserves a better end than falling drunk from a ship’s deck.”

“That he does.”

They left Nortah snoring and sat together in a corner of the hold, Vaelin knowing he would gain scant rest tonight with the wind howling at such a pitch. He watched as Erlin rubbed at the small of his back, groaning a little. “This will take quite a bit of getting used to,” he said.

“Your first back-ache?”

“No doubt the first of many.” Erlin smiled and Vaelin concealed a wince at the changes in his face. The beating had left him with a crooked nose and somewhat misshapen jaw, though his eyes seemed to shine brighter, like a young man in fact.

“Have you decided?” Vaelin asked.

“Cara invited me to live with them when we get to the Reaches,” Erlin said. “Though I’m not sure Lorkan appreciated the gesture. Newlyweds need privacy after all. I do hear tell of a hut on the beach in need of an occupant though.”

“After all your travelling, you will be content with a hut on the beach?”

“For a time. I find I have a lot to think on.”

“Do you remember? When he… took you. Were you aware?”

Erlin remained silent for some time, his newly bright eyes dimmed somewhat, and when he spoke Vaelin knew he voiced a lie. “No. It’s all just a fog, like a bad dream best forgotten.”

“So you have no notion why it spared you? Why the stone didn’t take you when it took the Ally?”

“The Ally had touched it once before, I hadn’t. Perhaps it knew the difference.”

“He spoke of something looking back…”

“He spoke of many things, brother.” There was an edge to Erlin’s voice now, a patent weariness of questions. “And all best forgotten.” He brightened, slapping his knees and rising. “I think I shall seek out a sailor with some wine to spare. Care to join me?”

Vaelin smiled and shook his head. He watched Erlin disappear into the shadowed recesses of the hold and wondered if persuading Lyrna not to kill the ancient and now-giftless man would one day prove to be something he regretted.

“The future is ever uncertain,” she had said at the docks, fighting anger at the non-appearance of Weaver, an anger that was all too genuine today. “Find your deepest mine and bury it there, the location to be known only to you and myself. The Orders are never to learn of this thing’s existence.”

He waited until the captain advised him they had reached the deepest part of the Boraelin, whereupon he told him to trim his sails. It was only a little past dawn and he was alone on deck save for the night watch. They looked on in bafflement as he set aside the sledgehammer he had borrowed from the ship’s carpenter and cut away the rope binding the canvas. It duly fell away to reveal the smooth, unblemished surface of the black stone. He stepped back, hefting the hammer and lifting it above his head.

“Stop!”

It was Alornis, huddled in a blanket near the hold, staring at him, eyes wide and appalled.

“I have to,” he told her.

She frowned, puzzled, then shook her head. “Not like that you won’t.” She pointed an implacable finger at him. “Don’t move until I return.”

He watched her disappear below, standing uncertainly with hammer in hand as the crew looked on, curiosity or amusement on their faces.

“I’d never be able to face Master Benril again,” Alornis said, reemerging from the stairwell with her leather satchel on her shoulder. “Letting you break a stone like that.”

She placed her satchel on the deck and undid the straps, choosing a small hammer and a narrow iron chisel from the rows of tools.

“Don’t touch it,” Vaelin told her as she approached the stone.

“I know.” She made a face at him. “Reva told me.”

She placed the chisel in the centre of the stone, tapping it until a small crack appeared in the surface then delivering a series of well-placed blows with the hammer until no more than a few inches protruded. She retrieved two more chisels from the satchel and repeated the process, placing them on either side of the central peg and hammering away until the stone featured a crack across its surface about a half inch wide.

“As you will, brother,” she said, stepping back.

He stared down at it, seeing the way the surface seemed to swallow the light, suddenly uncertain. You don’t know what this thing is! he had said. I looked into that world… and something looked back, something vast, and hungry. Touch it once and receive a gift…

He raised a hand, extending it to the stone, letting it hover over the surface, almost touching. What will it give me? Another song? The Ally’s gift?

“Alucius told me he loved me,” Alornis said, drawing his gaze. She held her blanket tight, blinking as the wind drove tears from her eyes, tracing across her pale skin like molten silver. “The freed slave came to me with a message, his last message. He said he loved me and begged forgiveness for not telling me sooner. He said he had done many things he regretted, but that was the worst. And he told me not to hate, Vaelin. He said there was sufficient hate in this world and he wanted to look at me from the Beyond and see at least one soul untouched by it. But I couldn’t… They killed him, and I hated them, and I burned them.”

“You did what we all did, sister,” he said. “You, the queen, Reva, Frentis… Alucius and Caenis… The woman I would have married. We won a war that needed winning.”

He looked down at the stone and withdrew his hand. His thoughts were full of many things as he raised the hammer, many faces, some gone, some still living, all changed or damaged. He thought of the battles he had fought and the brothers he had lost, and he thought of Dahrena. You are my Beyond now. For me to endure, so must you.

The first blow drove the central peg deep enough to split the stone down to its base. It fell apart, thumping heavily onto the deck. He raised the hammer and brought it down, again and again, heaving with tireless fury as a cloud of black dust rose around him. Some drifted away on the wind but for the most part it settled into a pile on the deck, glittering in the fast rising sun. When the last fragment had been pounded to powder he ordered it all gathered up in the canvas and cast over the side. The stain of it roiled their wake, lingering for only seconds before fading completely as they sailed on, carried home by the westerly winds.