Queen of Fire

After a tortuous hour-long ride they broke into the parkland surrounding the arena where he forced Scar to full gallop, hearing a rising cacophony as they neared the great red-gold edifice. Something flickered in the corner of his eye and he turned to see a line of people running towards the arena’s south-facing wall, perhaps five hundred, all armed. His gaze went to the figure in the lead, picking out the dark blue cloak and the familiar, precise gait of his run. He angled Scar to the left, leaping corpses and thundering over marble and grass to charge into the path of the onrushing fighters, dragging him to a halt and raising his hand.

The charging line came to a slow stop as Frentis waved his sword. They were an odd bunch, men and women in motley armour bearing the marks of recent battle, some with Volarian colouring, others plainly Alpiran or of Realm origin. He breathed a sigh of relief at finding Weaver among them, standing amidst the only group in this company to present a truly soldierly appearance.

“Brother!” Frentis greeted him, running to his side. Vaelin was struck by his appearance, besmirched with blood and soot from head to toe, his sword blade stained red from end to end. However, he took comfort from his gaze, aged since he had last seen him, but steady and free of the madness that seemed to have gripped this city.

Vaelin nodded at Weaver and the well-ordered Volarians surrounding him. “Are those Varitai?”

“They call themselves Politai now,” Frentis said. “It means ‘unchained’ in old Volarian.”

Vaelin glanced over his shoulder as Orven’s guards and the Sentar rode into view, the Ally among them, his posture now considerably more alert as he scanned the arena. Vaelin saw the smile playing on his lips. No need to conceal his anticipation now.

“Unchained,” he repeated, turning back to Frentis. “As were you, brother.”

Frentis nodded, frowning a little in puzzlement. “Lady Reva,” he said, pointing his sword at the arena. “I have sound intelligence . . .”

“I know.” Vaelin climbed down from Scar’s back and drew his sword, striding towards the arena and beckoning Frentis to follow, speaking softly. “We do not have much time, so listen well . . .”

• • •

All sound of battle had faded by the time he entered the arena. They had been delayed by a few Kuritai found in the maze of corridors that led them here, but the Sentar and the guardsmen were numerous and skilled enough to cut them down without difficulty. Vaelin’s gaze tracked over the surrounding terraces as he stepped out onto the sand, finding them only a third full, nervous huddles of Volarian citizenry keeping their distance from companies of Realm Guard and Cumbraelin archers. The queen stood in the centre of the arena, smiling as she exchanged words with Reva, alongside what appeared to be a monstrous ape of some kind, lying dead with a spear jutting from its back.

Reva ran to him as he approached, her embrace fierce and warm. “Too late this time,” she chided, moving back to deliver a playful slap to his cheek.

He nodded and forced a smile, bowing to the queen as she came to greet him. “Highness. I am glad to see you well.”

“And you, my lord.” He found her gaze oddly cool, the unaffected smile she had shown him in the past now more considered. The greatest conquerer in Realm history, he reminded himself. More than a queen now.

“Lady Dahrena?” she asked, her gaze tracking over the company behind him.

He met her gaze and shook his head, seeing the brief spasm of lost composure she betrayed, her face clouding in genuine grief. “A . . . great loss, my lord.”

His gaze was drawn by a choking sound behind her, seeing another body slumped next to the monstrous ape, her eyes fixed not on him but on Frentis. Her lips moved in some form of greeting, spitting blood across the sand as her hands twitched.

“May I present Empress Elverah of the Volarian Empire,” the queen said.

Vaelin saw how Frentis paled and shifted at his side, seemingly unable to look away from the dying woman as she continued to voice her greeting. He stared at his brother until he turned, meeting his gaze and holding it, hoping he remembered his task. Frentis gave a barely perceptible nod and turned away from the Empress, drawing a plaintive groan from her as she clawed at the sand, desperately trying to pull herself closer to him.

“I have an introduction of my own,” Vaelin told the queen, beckoning to Orven’s guardsmen to bring the Ally.

“Your ageless Gifted?” the queen asked, casting a critical eye over the Ally’s bound form. He returned her gaze with a distracted nod and looked up at the surrounding tiers, eyes narrowed in careful calculation.

“Not exactly,” Vaelin said. “I don’t know his true name, but we have become accustomed to calling him the Ally.”