“Wisdom tells me,” she said, “that each tower in the temple was allocated a priest upon construction, one said to have been touched by the gods. It was their lifelong mission to carve whatever insight the gods had imparted to them into the tower, from the lowest step to the very top. A lifetime spent etching their visions into stone, forbidden any other task, never allowed to venture from their towers. Little wonder they were insane by the time they finished, their messages no more than the scrawl of gnarled and maddened hands. And when they were done . . .” She went to the edge of the platform, her slippered toes protruding into space as she raised her arms, the wind whipping her gown and hair. “They would fly and the gods would reach down and snatch them from the air.”
“Highness?”
She turned to see Iltis moving closer, reaching out a tentative hand to draw her back from the edge. She lowered her arms and waved him away with a small laugh. “Worry not, my lord. It’s not my time to fly, I still have so much to do.”
• • •
She had Al Hestian send the North Guard ahead to Urvesk with orders to make themselves as conspicuous as possible. The Nilsaelin cavalry were divided into companies and dispatched north and south with the mission of freeing all the slaves they could find, though Lyrna fully expected their talent for looting to be given free rein. They had been cautioned to spare the free populace where possible and send them east with a full appreciation of their queen’s intent. Accordingly, as they marched away from the temple and the dusty plain into the verdant hill country beyond, the horizon on either side was marked by tall columns of smoke rising from villas burned in the Nilsaelins’ wake. From their reports it seemed many in this region had been told not to flee since the invaders would soon be crushed by the Empress’s invincible forces.
By the fifth day many companies had returned, somewhat burdened by sundry valuables, but also trailing a collection of freed slaves, soon growing to more than a thousand over succeeding days. Lyrna made a point of personally greeting as many as possible, finding most to be young and prone to addressing her as “Honoured Mistress.” Their older brethren were apparently too steeped in lifelong fear to accept this new queen’s offer of freedom.
“Some of them wept when we burned their master’s house, Highness,” a baffled Nilsaelin captain told her. “A few even tried to fight us.”
She had Nortah take charge of their new recruits, with Wisdom’s assistance since the Lord Marshal spoke no Volarian. “It’ll take months to turn this lot into soldiers,” he told her as she toured his makeshift training camp. They had paused in a broad valley ten miles short of Urvesk, taking up residence in a plush villa the Nilsaelins had been thoughtful enough to spare for her comfort.
“You turned former slaves into fighters before, my lord,” she pointed out.
“They had only been in chains for a few days, weeks at most. And their hatred burned bright enough to overcome a lack of skill and discipline.” He gestured at the recruits labouring under the tutelage of sergeants from the Dead Company, who seemed intent on compensating for a lack of shared language with volume. “Most of these have known nothing but bondage.”
“I’m willing to wager their hatred will burn bright too,” Lyrna said. “When sufficiently roused. Keep at it my lord. We move on in three days.”
• • •
The city of Urvesk lay close to a fork in the river that ran alongside the road, birthing a smaller tributary snaking off to the north. It reminding her vaguely of Alltor with its high walls; however, the similarity faded at the sight of the many gaps, and the sprawl of mean housing that spread beyond them to the edge of the river.
“The place grows less populous by the day, Highness,” the North Guard commander reported. “They’ve been fleeing north or east in a steady stream since they first caught a glimpse of us. No sign of any soldiery beyond some sentries on the walls, perhaps two hundred at most.”
“Thank you, my lord. Please rest your men.”
“Highness, I . . .” He hesitated, a keen entreaty in his eyes. “I had hoped to lead the assault.”
