Upon the Flight of the Queen Read online

  “Varama sent them,” Sansyra said, for she feared Varama wouldn’t explain this herself, and she wanted to remind the intruding alten that Varama was due respect. When Enada’s gaze swung around, she continued: “She forged orders to send them out.”

  Enada laughed. “Well, that sounds about right.”

  “She also led an attack to poison most of the Naor dragons, tonight. And she forged orders for the Naor to resupply us. It worked, too.”

  Enada laughed again, her eyes twinkling as she faced her fellow alten. “You’re pretty funny for someone with no sense of humor. What are you planning next?”

  Once again, though, Varama hadn’t received a complete answer, so she repeated herself. “What are your exact numbers?”

  Enada relented and divulged the information at last. “I’ve roughly a thousand.”

  “Are you expecting more?”

  Enada offered empty palms. “I’m not expecting anything. Who knows what will turn up? You’re lucky you got me.”

  Sansyra recognized the fixed look in Varama’s eye and knew she was irritated by Enada’s informal delivery. “Do you have any word of more reinforcements from Vedessus, or Erymyr? Ekhem?”

  The horsewoman shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that. You’ve got a few dozen Alantran cavalry out here with us, a whole bunch of refugees eager to fight, and one alten stabbed up to pieces.”

  Varama’s chin rose ever so slightly—Sansyra noted a slight flare to her nostrils. “Which alten?”

  “That cute new one, Rylin. I guess he pulled off some real heroics, to hear the Alantrans tell it. A couple of healers about drained themselves dry trying to save him, but he hasn’t woken yet.”

  The news brought a sharp inhale from Sansyra. Until recently she hadn’t had much use for Rylin, and her depth of concern surprised her.

  Varama’s next query was quick. “Do they think he’ll recover?”

  Enada roughly shrugged. “They’re fussing with him every couple of hours. With that kind of care I guess he’s got a fair chance. The Alantrans just about worship him.”

  “He’s been very brave,” Sansyra said, then realized that she’d added uncalled-for information, again, and fell silent as Enada stared at her.

  The alten’s voice grew challenging. “I didn’t catch your name, Squire.”

  “This is Sansyra,” Varama said, “my second-in-command.”

  Until that moment Sansyra had thought herself an adjutant, and blinked a little in surprise.

  Enada grunted, nodded once, sharply. “Hail, Squire.” She then headed past Lemahl, quietly watching beside Sansyra, and dropped onto the little chair on the wall perpendicular to Varama. She stretched out her mud-caked boots. “I don’t have too long. I don’t want to risk heading back out through your wall hole come daylight. Your scout here says you’re deliberately staying in the city.”

  “Yes. The Naor are under the misapprehension that this city will be a gateway to their greater ambitions. I intend to convince them that instead it is a death trap designed for them.”

  Enada bobbed her head. “What do you have in here, a couple hundred people?”

  “Less.”

  “And you’re against what, about eight thousand Naor? You expect to stand them in a long line so each of you kill fifty or so?”

  “I’ve a better plan,” Varama said simply.

  Enada sat forward. “Mysterious as ever, eh? Well, I don’t know how we can help you. We’ve heard that there’s a second army of Naor that’s supposed to reach Alantris in the next week. We’re going to head out tomorrow with the Alantran fighters and lie in wait for them. A few nice ambushes ought to cut them down to size.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Enada straightened in her chair. “No?”

  “The cavalry here is essential to my plan.”

  “I don’t see how. My people are horse warriors. They’re no good on walls.”

  “Your people need to keep the Naor trapped inside Alantris. Send your scouts to monitor the approach of the second army, but keep the main body of your troops here. You must ensure that no communication or supplies transfer between either force. They cannot be permitted to coordinate their efforts in any way. This will likely cause concern in the oncoming force, and it will almost surely stoke fear among the Naor trapped in Alantris. Further, any foray that leaves the walls of Alantris—and I do mean any—must be destroyed. Your numbers should make that simple.”

  Enada rubbed her nose and raised her eyebrows thoughtfully, but said nothing. Sansyra wondered why she hesitated to answer, because Varama’s reasoning was eminently clear.

  “Sure. N’lahr used to say that when you know more about a divided enemy’s condition and position than they do they’re instantly weaker. But you’re still talking about a lot of Naor in these walls.”

  “I am. But keep in mind that their numbers are not highly trained.”

  Enada sighed. “That’s obvious as soon as you cross swords with them. All right, supposing that we keep the Naor here, what good will all this do when the other Naor army turns up?”

  “The other realms should send reinforcements. By the time the Naor arrive you will long since have mastered the land and have prepared conditions to engage their reinforcements.”

  “You don’t expect much, do you?” Enada asked. “There’s probably five to ten thousand in the next wave, if I know the Naor.”

  “We are alleged experts at achieving the impossible.”

  Listening to the two incredibly capable women talk, hearing the solid confidence in Varama’s voice, Sansyra felt a rising sense of hope. Dire as things were, maybe Varama really could get them out of this alive.

  The horsewoman chuckled. “All right. Anything else you want me to do? How are we to keep in touch?”

  Varama’s head swiveled up to the silent squire beside Sansyra. “Lemahl, you’re the one who made contact. Is there a place outside where it’s possible to signal safely for rendezvous?”

  “Yes, Alten.” The homely squire knew better than to answer a question from Varama with irrelevant details.

  “You and Enada work out the specifics as you take her back.”

  Someone knocked at the door. Sansyra was about to tell whomever it was to leave be, but Varama answered.

  “Enter.”

  Iressa, her long brunette hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun, opened the door and stepped inside. She was remarkably grave, but she had been ever since their return. She and Nereal had been close. Perhaps, though, it was the news she brought that rendered her so solemn. “The Naor are rounding up prisoners and herding them into the square before the main gate.”

  Enada sighed. “Reprisals.” She faced Varama. “How many of the Alantrans know about these tunnels?

  “They’re a closely kept secret,” Varama replied. “And Aradel worked hard to keep it that way.”

  “Too bad about her.” Enada’s tone of voice belied the casual words.

  “Yes,” Varama said. Sansyra saw just the barest flick of an emotion that might have been grief, then her superior’s gaze shifted to her. “Take a small group. Find a vantage point and learn what they’re doing. Obtain intelligence about their leaders. Avoid attracting attention.”

  “Yes, Alten.” Sansyra would have liked to have remained behind to rest her injured leg and hear the conclusion of the meeting, but she rose and saluted, first to Varama and then to Enada. She met Lemahl’s eyes and his plain face, rough with beard growth, lit with an encouraging smile. She nodded to him then left the room with Iressa.

  Confessing she couldn’t sleep, Iressa requested to join the mission, and Sansyra acquiesced, asking only Denalia to come along. The young woman knew the city far better than either of them.

  Their armor hidden by dark cloaks, they made their way through alleys and across rooftops, thankful that the sky was overcast and shadows long as the sun came up. Sansyra managed to hide her limp.

  They saw numerous patrols, but only one pas
sed close, just after they’d retreated into the shadow of a burned-out building. Judging from the predatory gleam in Iressa’s eyes, she’d just have soon slain every member of the four-man group, but the trio stuck to the shadows and turned away from the bearded faces that peered into their narrow hiding place.

  Eventually the three women worked their way into a house past the edge of the main square. They watched the Naor gathering through the shutters of a second-floor window.

  The occupiers had trampled an ornamental flower garden in the middle of the square to assemble a wide wooden platform, one supported on thick wooden pillars. A crowd of Alantrans faced it. Some twenty paces to its left, an immense pyramid of books lay upon the cobblestones. Among the predominantly brown covers were bright reds, oranges, and the occasional yellow or green, which rendered the whole display incongruously festive.

  Denalia whispered, her voice cracking in horrified awe. “They must have emptied every library in the lower city.”

  “Why did they just pile them there?” Iressa asked.

  Didn’t she understand? “They’re going to burn them,” Sansyra explained.

  “Why?” Iressa’s brows knotted.

  “Because they’re stupid,” Denalia hissed, unable to take her eyes from the window.

  “Because they want to hurt us,” Sansyra said, although that wasn’t quite the reason, either. How could she succinctly explain the visceral hatred the Naor felt for learning, and the envy they had for those with the resources and time to devote to study? She sensed there was more to it even than that.

  The Naor were out in heavy force. Hundreds of them stood upon the walls or along the edges of the square, hedging in thousands of the cowed Alantran citizenry.

  “Where are the rest of our people?” Denalia asked quietly. What she didn’t express was the fear that everyone but these were dead.

  Surely the Naor hadn’t slain that many. Not yet. “Probably still in the slave pens,” Sansyra answered. “If the Naor brought them all here in one place, it might be too much for them to handle.” She stepped aside so Iressa could look.

  Denalia bit her lip. “You don’t think they’re going to kill all of the people they’ve brought here, do you?”

  “No,” Sansyra said, though she hadn’t thought of that. Surely not. But there was really no knowing. Iressa stepped away, then sat moodily down on the edge of the empty, unmade child’s bed in the loft they occupied.

  Sansyra returned to the window as the Naor used spear and sword point to prod a selection of men, women, and children out of the large mass of prisoners.

  Their voices were harsh and mocking as they organized the Alantrans they’d selected into ten long lines in front of the larger group, facing the platform. Sansyra gulped as the Naor withdrew to the side, hands on weapon hilts. Gods. Maybe they weren’t going to kill all the Alantrans they’d brought here, but just these hundreds. Was that relief she felt that only this mass of people would die rather than the whole? She snarled, furious with the Naor, angry with herself.

  The dread uncertainty down there must be unbearable; they could feel it even from their point of relative safety. Denalia’s left hand was clenching so tightly it paled. The sounds of small children wailing in fright drifted through the mostly silent square.

  Sansyra belatedly stepped away to order that Iressa monitor their exit route, and while her back was turned the loudest of the children suddenly went silent, followed on the moment by a woman’s scream. It ended as abruptly as the child’s.

  “They killed them both,” Denalia said in stunned, quiet horror.

  Sansyra’s mouth had gone dry.

  Shortly after she returned to the window, a group of Naor officers used a ladder to climb to the speaking platform. There were five in all: heavy, bearded men in dark armor and cloaks except for one, oddly slimmer and smooth faced, almost surely the woman Rylin had mentioned. The two tallest were clearly guardsmen, their armor trimmed in gold, with two silvered feathers projecting from the height of their helms. One was scarred by weather and battles, his beard laced with gray. The final one wore a burgundy cloak and, unlike the others, stood bare headed. Even though she’d listened to Rylin’s briefing, she didn’t recognized Koregan at first for a Naor leader, for he looked even younger than he’d been described despite the beard.

  The older man stepped forward and raised his hands to the crowd. “Dogs of Alantris, bow before your betters! Bow to your master, the Lord General of Alantris, your conqueror, Koregan, Grandson of King Mazakan, first of all mortals!”

  No one knelt. Denalia sucked in a surprised breath as a Naor soldier kicked the legs out from under a young Alantran man. Other soldiers moved down the ranks, spear butting or kicking until a ripple of obeisance ran through those arranged in front of the platform. The large mass of Alantrans beyond hesitantly took their knees as well.

  The graybeard raised his arms and clenched his fists, and on the instant, the Naor soldiers let out three guttural chants that rang from the city walls. It reminded Sansyra of the bark of dogs, loud and powerful and intimidating.

  The grayhair stepped back, and Koregan lifted his bearded chin. His brighter, booming voice echoed through the square.

  “I speak not to you slaves, but to the ones I know are watching!” His head swiveled as he eyed distant buildings. “Those of you who still think we are at war. I tell you now that I have won the war! Those that kneel here, and all their kin, are mine! This city, from wall to wall, belongs to me!”

  The graybeard raised a fist and the Naor soldiers let out another mighty shout.

  Koregan spoke on.

  “I can and will do whatever I want with this city. And I will do whatever I want with these slaves!” He searched the distance, turning his head to left and right, briefly facing their window.

  “Gods,” Denalia breathed. It did, for a brief moment, seem as though he might be looking right through their slatted shutter and into their eyes.

  Koregan faced forward again. “Each time you fight, I will kill my slaves. Today, that number shall be small, for I am a reasonable man, and you might learn from a demonstration of my power. Do not think I will always be so merciful.”

  Denalia spoke in quiet despair. “He’s going to kill all of those in the line, isn’t he?”

  Sansyra didn’t dare answer. She was afraid her companion was right, but didn’t want to say it, as if to speak agreement was to breathe life into it.

  Koregan stepped nearer the edge of the platform. “These words are for you, slaves. Some of you have useful skills. But don’t think that means I care about your lives! When you or the rebels displease me, I’ll never hesitate to punish you. You are nothing but cringing rats!”

  “I thought they were dogs,” Sansyra said quietly.

  Neither of her companions laughed; she hadn’t expected them to.

  He extended his hands, sweeping at the kneeling Alantrans. “Your leaders failed you. They put faith in weak things. How will all these books help you now?” One meaty hand swept toward the mound of texts, and his voice rose. His head lifted at the same moment, to make clear he spoke to his soldiers. “Look at this! Do you know what most of these writings are about?” He paused only briefly. “Love! Texts on love. As though men need to be told how to fuck a woman!”

  A ripple of laughter rolled through the Naor.

  “Fae are so feeble they have to study up on how it’s done!” Koregan said.

  Again they laughed, as if Koregan were a great comedian.

  Sansyra was positive those couldn’t all be love poems. But it wouldn’t be the first time Naor lied.

  Koregan pointed to the Alantrans. “You stared at clouds and wrote down words when you should have mastered your weapons. What I say are the only words you need bother with! You thought you need only please yourselves? Now you live to please me. And I am not happy.”

  For the first time, Koregan looked to the grayhair. He nodded, once. The older man signaled to a soldier below.

  A
trio of Naor stepped forward with burning torches and threw them onto the books. Red and orange flame licked up the beautiful bindings. As the fire spread and smoke rose, Koregan stepped even closer to the edge, shouting at the kneeling figures. His face had reddened. “This is just the start! You will submit, or I will kill all of you boy rutters!”

  Denalia quietly remarked to Sansyra: “I thought we were rats.”

  Koregan stepped back and called to the grayhair. “Pull out every tenth one!”

  The old soldier repeated the order.

  Naor went down the lines, their counting obvious from their pointing, and dragged every tenth person to the side. As these victims were removed, some stretched hands for them. One weeping woman grabbed at her small child and then was spear butted to the ground.

  Once all were separated, Koregan stepped forward, eying the people who’d been removed and forced to one side. He spoke again. “Take every ninth as well!”

  Again the Naor soldiers walked the line, counting, and dragged every ninth away. Stifled weeping grew more audible.

  Koregan gritted his teeth to the noise. “I had planned on being more merciful, but I’m tired of your whining!” He faced his older advisor, and spoke quietly.

  The graybeard stepped forward and let loose a simple command. “Slay them!”

  The soldiers advanced not on the gaggle of those separated, but on the longer lines of those kneeling. Some were stabbed from behind with spears. Others were beheaded with swords, or had their throats slit. One enterprising soldier split each head in half with his axe, smiling as he went.

  Sansyra saw the blood drain from Denalia’s face. She wanted to look away but made herself watch the murders, to remember. Sometimes she scanned the faces of the Naor. A few were grave, but more smiled and laughed, the bloodlust shining in their eyes.

  It continued for a very long while. An unbelievable time that Sansyra felt stealing moments from her soul.

  When at last the massacre was complete and the soldiers stepped apart, the old soldier addressed them once again.

  “You that General Koregan spared, drag the bodies to the fire. If the rest of you are clever, this need be your first and last lesson!”