Queen of Fire полностью

“Yes, she tried to teach me your faith. An odd notion to worship the dead with such devotion.” Lemera shook her head before turning and walking back to the main camp, her parting words faint and barely heard, “The dead can’t love you back.”

• • •

They reached the hill country two days later, their number now swollen to over five hundred though many lacked decent weapons, about half armed with nothing more than clubs or farming tools. An increasing number of recruits were now runaways, fleeing their masters upon hearing of the great rebellion as those who had escaped the raids spread word of their exploits. The runaways brought news of the terror they were provoking amongst the free folk of Eskethia, the northern roads now crowded with black- and grey-clad alike, seeking the safety of more heavily garrisoned lands.

Frentis led them deep into the hills, a mostly bare landscape dotted with small trees and distinguished by the monolithic stones adorning the winding slopes. He chose a rock-strewn plateau for their main camp, offering clear views on all sides and shielded on the northern flank by a fast-flowing river. He sent Master Rensial and Illian to scout the western approaches, reporting back after a two-day ride that the Volarian garrison was pursuing with an impressive turn of speed, a thousand troops force-marching at a pace of fifty miles a day.

“This lot can’t face a thousand, Redbrother,” Lekran stated that evening. “The new ones still think it’s a game and most have never seen a real fight.”

“Then it’s time they did,” Frentis replied. “We can’t run forever. I will take the archers, see if we can thin their ranks a little. Sister Illian, get your people to start piling these rocks up into some semblance of a fortification. You and Draker will have charge of the camp until I return.” He turned to Lekran and the Garisai woman. “Can I trust you both to perform a task without spilling each other’s blood?”

Ivelda gave Lekran a sour glance but nodded, the former Kuritai issuing a terse grunt of agreement. They watched as Frentis scratched out a map in the dirt, listening intently as he explained their role.

“Much could go wrong in this,” Lekran observed.

“Even if it doesn’t work, it should at least claim half their number and the people here will have a fighting chance.” Frentis stood, hefting his bow. “Master Rensial, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”

• • •

They found a shadowed overhang to hide in as they watched the Varitai march into the hills, Frentis using his spyglass to pick out the officers. Identifying the commander proved an easy matter, a sturdy man on horseback in the middle of the column, his authority plain in the curt nods he gave to the younger men who occasionally rode to his side. The column was tightly ordered but had a loose skirmish line of Free Sword cavalry at its head, flanks and rear.

“This fellow’s a trifle too cautious for my liking, Master,” Frentis commented, passing the glass to Rensial.

The master held it to his eye for a brief moment then handed it back with a shrug. “Then kill him.”

Frentis beckoned Corporal Vinten and Dallin to his side and pointed to the column’s southern flank. “Dallin, you’ll come with Master Rensial and me. Vinten, take the others and circle around. When they make camp wait for twilight and pick off as many pickets as you can. Once it’s done head back to the camp, don’t linger.”

The City Guard gave a reluctant nod. “Don’t feel right leaving you, brother.”

“Do this right and we’ll be fine. Now go.”

They tracked the column until dusk, watching as it formed itself into a square-shaped encampment with the usual disconcerting speed and precision of Volarian slave-soldiery. Watching the way the entire battalion moved like one living beast made Frentis glad he had never had to face them in open field and wondrous as to how Vaelin had managed to beat so many at Alltor. Little wonder she thought they could conquer the whole world.

They left Dallin with the horses a half mile ahead of the Volarian camp and approached on foot, making for the northern picket line. He and Rensial wore their Free Sword mercenary garb, basically identical to the standard kit but slightly less uniform in appearance, the breastplates adorned with various scribblings in Volarian. Frentis couldn’t read the words but Thirty-Four had translated enough to indicate it consisted of various cynical and fatalistic slogans common to veteran Free Swords: free in spirit but a slave to blood, was a typical example. However, their garb was clearly sufficiently similar to the other Free Swords to allow them to approach the first one they saw without raising any sign of alarm.

“Fucking cold tonight,” he greeted them cheerfully, steam rising as he pissed against a rock.