Queen of Fire (Raven's Shadow #3)

Queen of Fire (Raven's Shadow #3) Page 85

“There will be no victory for us, will there?” she asked in a whisper.

“Don’t say that. My queen sails to these shores with a great army. If we hold to our cause . . .”

“I was a slave, but never a fool. This empire is vast beyond imagining and we have killed but a fraction of the force they will bring against us. They will kill us, all of us, for we are slaves and we cannot be allowed even the barest hope of freedom. Without us, they have no empire.”

The matter must be settled. “If you believe our cause so hopeless, why join us?”

She came closer still, wrapping her free arm around his, clasping his hand tighter, her breath warm on his skin. “Because you offered something I had forgotten could be offered, a choice. And I choose to die free.”

• • •

Their numbers doubled over the next few weeks as Ivelda and Lekran continued to bring in recruits by the dozen and ever more runaways arrived at the villa. Soon there were so many that feeding them all became a problem, Frentis finding himself compelled to order some into the fields to harvest more crops. A few were resentful of the order though he managed to ameliorate any discontent by promising that all would take a turn at the same chore, himself included. Conahl, the Realm-born blacksmith, had performed prodigious feats in producing large numbers of weapons but still it wasn’t enough; only a third of the army could be described as adequately armed and at least as many were still equipped with various farm implements.

“Plenty of weapons in New Kethia,” Lekran pointed out at the evening council.

“We still lack the strength to take it,” Frentis replied. Thirty-Four was well acquainted with New Kethia and had ample intelligence on the strength of its walls. Plus they had to assume the Empress had sent them some reinforcement by now, or perhaps even come herself. He resisted the urge to allow himself to dream again, resuming the nightly dose of Brother Kehlan’s sleeping draught, despite the headaches. The campaign was moving towards its crucial phase and he was unwilling to risk any chance she might divine his plans when their minds touched. He was also aware she would be raging at the sudden absence of contact, and perhaps even prone to misjudgement as a consequence.

“If we wait much longer, this region will be denuded of slaves,” Thirty-Four said. “Those that haven’t joined us will have been killed or marched off by their owners. If we were to go south, I’ve little doubt this army could be made mighty within a few months.”

“We do not have a few months,” Frentis said. “The queen’s fleet will already have sailed and marching south will not provide the diversion she needs.”

“Over half of our people are not from the Realm and know nothing of the queen. They came because we promised freedom, not to exchange one master for another.”

“If we can secure the queen’s victory, then every slave in this empire will be free. Her cause is their cause. Make sure they know that.”

He returned his gaze to the map. We have to strike somewhere. “What is this place?” he asked, pointing to a town on the northern coast, about fifty miles east of New Kethia.

“Viratesk,” Thirty-Four said. “A minor port serving the trade routes north.”

“Defences?”

“A wall, of sorts. It’s a poor place, home to only a few black-clads with scant funds to waste on a wall that hasn’t been needed for centuries.” Thirty-Four paused, lips pursed in consideration. “They do have a lively slave market as I recall. The market in New Kethia is often full to overflowing so many slavers look to alternatives to shift their stock.”

A town so close to the provincial capital put to the torch and they’ll be forced to come out from behind their walls. Frentis straightened from the map. “We wait one more week to gather numbers and train, then we march to Viratesk.”

• • •

He had Thirty-Four draw a map of the town and sent Master Rensial to scout the approaches, cautioning him against being seen. The remaining days were spent training the recruits, making an effort to exchange a few words with as many as possible, gratified that most seemed to be enlivened by the prospect of action. However, he didn’t have to look too deeply to see the fear that lingered in many, mostly those born into bondage or veterans of prolonged enslavement; they had risked all to join this rebellion and had no illusions as to the consequences should they fail.

“I nearly ran once before,” Tekrav told Frentis one morning as they went over the inventory of supplies. The former bookkeeper had proved himself enthusiastic but unskilled in training, but his facility for numbers remained as sharp as ever. “Not long after my creditors’ petition saw me chained. Myself and another newly enslaved hatched a plan during the caravan ride to the master’s villa. My co-conspirator was a great, strong fellow, but overfond of drink and poppy essence as I was overfond of dice. Our intention was for him to strangle the guard when he came close to our cage and take his keys.”

“Did it work?”

“He managed to get a hand around the guard’s throat all right, but then one of the slave-hounds bit it off at the wrist. They had little use for him after that, except as an example. It took them all day to impart the lesson, by which time he was begging for death. After that I found myself all too grateful for a slave’s lot.”

“Then why did you join us?”

Tekrav gave a small shrug. “Even now I’m not entirely sure. The master was good to me, only two floggings in all the years I served him. But he was not so kind to the others, and as One, they looked to me for protection. I had subtle ways of diverting his temper, business matters or a new wine vintage to distract him from whatever torment his mean little mind could conceive. But when the war started and the new slaves came . . .” Tekrav trailed off and forced a smile. “Well, he had so many new toys to play with. And I couldn’t protect them all.”

“Lemera and the others. You joined us because they did.”

“A man should stay with his family, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he should.” Frentis gave his inventory a final glance before handing it back. “This is all well in order. My thanks for your diligence. I would be grateful if you would oversee the baggage-train during the march.”

“I will, brother. I was wondering, perhaps I could have a title.”

Frentis paused, raising an eyebrow. “I assume you have something in mind.”

“Nothing too extravagant. But perhaps . . . Lord Quartermaster?”

“Chief Quartermaster. Any ennoblements will be for Queen Lyrna to decide.”

“Of course. I trust you’ll assure her of my worth in due course?”

Free for a few months and already he plots his rise. He’ll probably end his days as Minister of Works, should he live so long. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

• • •

Master Rensial returned the next day to report the way to Viratesk clear of Volarian patrols. In fact, he had failed to glimpse another soul during the entire mission.

“Not like them to be incautious,” Lekran observed. “Usually a day on the road won’t pass without seeing at least one troop of cavalry.”

“The empire is always keen to police its people,” Thirty-Four agreed.

“So we scared them off,” Ivelda said. “Just like my people did to the Othra when they came to take the bronze hills.”

“We did take them,” Lekran replied with a surprisingly polite grin. “But found them worthless so gave them back.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Your father told you many lies, sister-fucker.”

“I made Redbrother a promise, so I’ll wait till this is over before I claim your head.”

“I look forward to being amused by your attempt . . .”

“Shut up!” Frentis stated, very precisely. He stared at them both in turn until they lowered their gaze. “All of you, prepare your companies to march at dawn.”

They left the villa intact this time. Some of the older slaves had petitioned him to be allowed to stay, hoping to make the place their own. Frentis saw little point in attempting to compel their participation, especially since Illian advised they would be little use in a battle. He scouted ahead with Master Rensial’s troop, confirming the country as empty for miles around. The fields grew increasingly unkempt as they marched north, devoid of slaves, save a few corpses they took to be runaways from the villas they passed, all also uniformly free of occupation and some already burned by their owners.

“Told you,” Ivelda taunted Lekran with a laugh. “Pissed themselves and ran off. When we get to the town they’ll do the same.”

Viratesk came into sight after a five-day march, a square mile of brick buildings nestled in the bowl of a natural harbour. Frentis’s spyglass revealed the walls as poorly maintained, featuring several gaps and the surrounding ditch long since filled in. Also, he could find no sign of any guards on the walls or smoke rising from a single chimney.

“There’s nothing here.” He sighed, lowering the spyglass.

They found the town gates open and unguarded, the streets beyond vacant and littered with detritus that told of a hasty flight. “Some of them might have had the decency to stay and fight,” Lekran grumbled. “Just for a little while.”