She turned Jet and cantered to where the prisoners had been arrayed, just over a thousand grey-faced men and boys standing shackled in four loosely ordered ranks. “Are there any officers here native to this city?” she called in Volarian.
They shuffled in fearful silence, many not daring to raise their heads, one boy near the front weeping openly.
“Speak up, you filth!” Iltis barked in Realm Tongue, making his meaning clear with a vicious crack of the overseer’s whip he had secured from somewhere.
A man with a bandaged face in the third rank slowly raised a hand and was soon dragged from the throng by Iltis.
“You are an officer?” Lyrna asked the prisoner as Iltis forced him to his knees before her.
“A captain,” he said in a wheezy voice. The bandage on his face covered his right eye, dark with dried blood, his complexion telling of a man moving closer to death with every step. “Called from the reserve to fight the Empress’s glorious war of defence.” He gave a bitter laugh and Lyrna divined he fully expected to die in the next few moments.
“Get up,” she told him. “My lord, remove his chains.”
She guided Jet closer as the one-eyed captain stared up at her in bafflement, seemingly uncaring of the blood that seeped from his chafed wrists as Iltis removed the manacles. “You will go home, Captain,” she told him, pointing to Urvesk. “And tell whoever holds charge of this city that your comrades here will be freed, for I do not come to this land for slaughter, but justice. In return the city will release every slave in bondage and open its gates to me. If they do not, I will kill ten prisoners every hour until they do. If reason still does not prevail, they will find themselves drowning in ash and blood when I send my army through their ragged walls.”
She nudged Jet closer still, leaning down to stare into his one good eye. “Ask them if they really want to die for the Empress.”
• • •
By nightfall over three thousand slaves had emerged from the gates. Lyrna watched the last of them troop out and waited, concealing a sigh of relief as the gates remained open.
“I should go ahead with the Realm Guard, Highness,” Al Hestian suggested. “Ensure a proper reception for your entry.”
“I shan’t be entering the city,” she told Al Hestian. “Send as many men as you think fit to ensure they haven’t contrived to retain any slaves and secure additional supplies for my new subjects. No looting on pain of execution. Leave them sufficient stocks to guard against starvation, and their horses. I’m keen for word of our actions here to spread. Be sure the army is ready to march by dawn.”
She glanced at the prisoners huddling together in the gloom, shivering as much in fear as from the oncoming chill.
“Release this lot an hour before we march,” she ordered, wheeling Jet about and galloping back towards the villa.
• • •
They covered a hundred miles in three days, the Battle Lord insisting on a pace that saw many soldiers collapsing at the end of a day spent on what many now referred to as the “blood road.” The march had made Lyrna intimate with the varying moods of her army. The Nilsaelins were the most vociferous grumblers, issuing a collective groan of relief and exhaustion at the conclusion of the second day. The Realm Guard were the most disciplined on the march though also the most fractious in the evenings; fistfights over card-games or petty disputes were still annoyingly common. The Renfaelins were by far the most cheery, their encampment rich in song and laughter most evenings, providing a stark contrast to the muted efficiency of the Cumbraelins, though their relative quietude had assumed a grim determination since the temple. They marched at a faster pace than all the other contingents, Lyrna having acceded to Lord Antesh’s request to lead the column, and would often be two or three miles ahead by nightfall. Also, judging from the way they would cluster around the few priests among them come evening, news of Lady Reva’s survival seemed to have birthed a resurgence of piety.
“I find myself ashamed, Highness,” Antesh said on the evening of the third day. She had sought him out during her nightly tour of the camp, finding the Cumbraelins more respectful than usual, their bows deeper though their ever-cautious gaze still lingered.
“Ashamed, my lord?”
