“My company is. You will remain on the ship.”
“A dog’s fart I will. Sailed half the world for this, and Aspect Caenis deserves a reckoning.”
“You are skilled in arms?”
She gave a short laugh and returned to her pipe, twiddling her fingers at him with a grin. “You’ll see what I’m skilled at, brother. Just don’t stand too close when you do.”
• • •
Brokev’s Notch was formed of a small bay flanked by craggy bluffs. Beyond the beach the ground rose in a steep incline to the redflower fields beyond. The sun was only just beginning to glimmer on the horizon and the promise of poor weather had manifested as a light morning drizzle.
“Even a handful of enemies on those heights, Redbrother,” Lekran said with a grimace. “And this bay will become a slaughter-house.”
Frentis said nothing, keeping his gaze on the cliff-tops as the boat neared the shore. It was low tide and the surf was negligible, the oarsmen heaving away at a high tempo regardless of noise; speed was more important than stealth now. He could see no sign of any movement on the bluffs, nor the ground beyond the beach.
“Remember,” he told Lekran. “Do not linger for a second, regardless of loss.”
He had placed the Garisai in the leading boats along with all their archers, Draker and Illian’s people following behind with orders to secure the bluffs. Master Rensial had opted to accompany him, probably in hopes of finding a horse as quickly as possible.
Frentis leapt clear at the sound of the boat’s hull scraping on the sand, sinking into the water up to his knees and immediately labouring towards the beach. In accordance with their orders the archers spread out with arrows already notched and bows raised, constantly scanning the bluffs for any sign of an enemy. The Garisai churned the tide-water into a white froth as they charged with Frentis, all making it onto the sand untroubled by the telltale hiss of an arrow storm or shouts of alarm.
Frentis permitted no pause on the beach, running across to the grassy slope and halting only on reaching the top. The Garisai immediately assumed a defensive formation though there was no sign of any opposition. The fields, rendered a dull shade of crimson by the morning gloom, stretched away silent and unmarred by a single living soul. Off to the west he could see the rising sun playing on towers ascending from the redflower like silver pins in a vast red blanket.
“Volar,” Lekran said in an oddly reverent tone. “All those years a slave to this empire, and this is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on it.”
And perhaps the last, Frentis mused. There may be nothing left when the queen gets done. The thought stirred memories of the grey-clad girl and her mother and he shifted his gaze to the beach in search of a distraction. Draker and Illian’s people were already ashore and in the process of splitting up to make for the bluffs. The Politai were fast approaching the beach, Weaver’s curly-haired form visible in the lead boat. Bring the healer . . .
“This smells wrong,” Ivelda said, scanning the poppy fields with a suspicious squint. “Not even a scout to greet us. Where are they?”
Frentis watched as Volar’s sprawling suburbs were revealed by the burgeoning sun. No walls to fight our way over, but a house can be made a fortress easily enough. “I suspect we’ll have an answer within the hour.”
They found the first body two miles on from the bay, a boy of about fifteen lying amidst the flowers, grey-clad and barely two hours gone by Frentis’s reckoning. He had been killed with a single thrust to the back, probably from horseback judging by the angle.
“Three more here,” Ivelda said from nearby. “Man, woman and child. Someone killed a family.”
They kept on towards the suburbs in a tight formation, Garisai skirmishing in front, Draker’s company on the right and Illian’s on the left. Karavek’s people followed in a dense mass with the Politai acting as rear-guard. Frentis set a punishing pace; moving across open ground with no cavalry to secure the flanks instilled a keen sense of vulnerability. More bodies were discovered on the march, grey-clads and a few slaves with the occasional black-clad. Most had wounds to the back, indicating they had been cut down whilst running. Frentis counted over a hundred by the time they reached the first houses whereupon he stopped counting.
What is she doing?
They lay in every doorway, every street corner, the gutters running red as evidence of the freshness of the slaughter. There was no sign of torture on the bodies, few with more than two wounds, most with one. This had been an efficient massacre, performed without regard to age, sex or station. Children lay alongside the elderly, slaves were entwined with overseers. Black, grey and enslaved all united in death.
“The queen?” Draker asked Frentis, skin pale beneath his beard. “I know she wanted justice, but this . . .”
“This was not the queen,” Frentis told him. “The Empress has set her Arisai to work.”
“Those red bastards? Thought we killed them all.”
Nine thousand more . . . He sighed at his own stupidity. They must have all been given the same lie to tell if captured.
“Varitai and Free Swords are one thing, brother,” Karavek said. “Even Kuritai. But my people can’t stand against the red men . . .”
“Then go back to the beach and beg Lord Ell-Nurin to take you home.” Frentis turned back to Draker. “Choose your fastest runner, send them to the Notch with a request the Fleet Lord come ashore with every sailor who can hold a blade.” He turned to view the death-choked streets ahead. “He’ll find us at the arena.”
They were drawn by the screams, a shrill chorus of terror and pain echoing across the bloodied streets. Frentis led the Garisai towards it, ordering Illian and Draker to work their way around on both flanks and sending the archers onto the rooftops. A hundred paces on the streets opened out into a square, displaying typical Volarian orderliness with its neatly arranged lawns, spotted with statuary and bisected with stone pathways, and, in the centre, a dense crowd of Volarians being systematically slaughtered by some two hundred Arisai. The people had been hemmed in on all sides, clustering together in instinctive terror as the red men methodically hacked their way through the throng, visibly shrinking by the second amidst a growing circle of corpses.
“I don’t expect you to fight for them,” Frentis told Lekran, raising his sword to the archers on the rooftops.
“I fight with you, Redbrother,” the tribesman told him, briefly twirling his axe. “Until this is done. You know that.”
Frentis nodded and lowered his sword. The archers unleashed their volley, the arrows streaking forth to claim at least a dozen Arisai as he sprinted forward, the Garisai following with a collective shout. Until this is done. For good or ill, it’ll be done today.
• • •
The Arisai rebounded from Sister Merial’s outstretched hand to collide with a wall, tendrils of grey smoke rising from the blackened handprint burned into his breastplate as he sank to the ground, all sign of life vanished from his frozen features. The sister turned to Frentis with a tired grin and flexed her fingers. “Handy in a tight spot, aren’t I, brother?”
“Down!” He grabbed her shoulder and forced her aside as an Arisai charged from a shadowed doorway, short sword outstretched and a joyful smile on his lips. Frentis turned the blade with his own and spun, bringing the sword around to slash across the Arisai’s eyes, finishing him with a thrust to the throat as he staggered, laughing in gleeful surprise.
Frentis paused to drag air into his lungs, surveying the street, littered with corpses from end to end. He spotted Ivelda among them, lying dead atop the Arisai she had killed, her dagger still embedded in his neck. They had fought from street to street for close to an hour now, forcing the Arisai to leave off their slaughter and face them. The fighting descended into chaos the farther in they went, as the streets grew more narrow and the Arisai revealed a fiendish talent for ambush. They would attack alone or in pairs, launching themselves without warning from alleys, doorways and windows to assault his fighters in a frenzy of delighted carnage before being brought down by weight of numbers or a well-placed arrow from one of the archers above. They had learned their lessons well in New Kethia, their advance made possible by the archers, who continued to leap from rooftop to rooftop, killing any Arisai seen in the streets below.
Frentis spied Lekran with half a dozen Garisai at the north end of the street and ran to his side, Merial following with an unsteady gait. He had seen her kill three Arisai already and knew she was risking collapse with every use of her gift.
“The last of the cowards from New Kethia pissed themselves and ran,” Lekran reported with a grimace of disgust. “I will kill Karavek with my own hands.”
“You’d have a difficult task,” Merial groaned, leaning against a doorway, ashen features sagging. “I saw him die two streets back.”
Frentis’s gaze rose at the sound of someone calling his name, finding Illian’s slim silhouette standing atop a two-storey building twenty yards away, waving her crossbow above her head. “Weaver!” she called down to him as he ran closer, indicating a point where the dense streets opened into what appeared to be a market square. “And Master Rensial!”
