Queen of Fire (Raven's Shadow 3)
Page 145CHAPTER TWELVE
Reva
“Kill her!” Lieza shrieked, thrashing in the Arisai’s grip. “Kill her and it ends!”
Reva’s hand jerked in the sand, inching closer to the bow as if by its own volition, her eyes still fixed on the Empress’s smiling face. “She makes a fair point,” she called. “With me gone this war is over, but she will still die and you will remember her end for a long time. I’ve ordered them to spare you, for how could I harm my sister? Wouldn’t you rather give her a quick death?”
Reva tore her gaze away, turning to Lieza, now sagging in the Arisai’s clutches, eyes imploring, her ragged breaths the only sound in the arena, the silence unbroken by the barest murmur as Reva’s hand closed on the bow . . .
Something whined past her head and thudded into the sand next to the bow. An arrow, the fletching shuddering with the impact. Reva’s gaze snapped up to the top tiers of the arena, finding a line of figures silhouetted there, each holding a bow. She groaned as her despair deepened. Varulek’s Kuritai hadn’t done their work after all. One of the archers raised his bow above his head and Reva squinted, finding something familiar in his bearing, the breadth of his shoulders reminding her of someone she knew, someone surely lost to the ocean. Her eyes went to his bow. It was long with a single elegant curve, so unlike the double-curved strongbows favoured by the Volarians.
Slowly she turned and lowered her gaze to the arrow buried in the sand. Swift-wing feathers, she saw, eyeing the fletching. A bird only seen in Cumbrael in the summer.
She raised her gaze to the Empress, and returned her smile.
She snatched up the bow and Varulek’s arrow, pivoting to the left, notching and loosing in a single motion. One of the Arisai holding Lieza staggered back, staring at the arrow jutting from his chest in gasping amusement. The other immediately drew his sword, raising it to plunge into Lieza’s back, then falling dead as Reva sent Antesh’s arrow into his neck.
Then the arrow storm began to abate, slowly at first, but soon dwindling to nothing. Reva stepped out from the archway, scanning the upper tiers and finding them full of thrashing men, red and black amidst the grey-green of the Cumbraelins. Her gaze went to the door where the unfortunate Jarvek had entered the arena, finding it still open. “Come on,” she told Lieza, taking her hand and starting forward.
The Empress landed in their path and rolled into a fighting stance, short sword held low and regarding Reva with a stern frown of annoyance. “You spoiled my spectacle.”
Reva backed away, ushering Lieza behind her and casting about frantically for another arrow as the battle raged above.
“All my lessons,” the Empress said, dancing closer, sword held low. “All my generous tutelage, cast back in my face. I am very disappointed, little sister.”
She lunged and Reva rolled to the side, dragging Lieza with her, the blade missing by inches. She came to her feet and swung the bow like a club, aiming for the Empress’s head. She ducked it easily, rounding on Reva with a disapproving scowl. “Our mother died with you inside her, as I lay abed and listened to her screams beyond the door. The Ally had told my father of the blessing, you see, and he was thirsty.”
She lunged again, Reva pushing Lieza to the left as she dodged to the right. She saw an Arisai’s body no more than ten feet away, feathered with arrows and a sword lying under its hand.
“Mother would have loved you more than me,” the Empress told Reva, leaping into her path as she started towards the body. “I know this. But I don’t mind, you would still have been my sister.”
Reva glanced at Lieza, imploring her to run, but the girl stayed, hefting her chains and adopting a clumsy approximation of a fighting stance. The Empress laughed at her, then sobered. “Such devotion,” she said, shaking her head. “All I ever received was fear and lust. I would have loved you, sister. But the envy would have been hard to bear.”
“I am not your sister!” she shouted to the Empress, capturing her wide-eyed gaze. “You have known nothing but fear and lust because that is all you are. You are just a madwoman who has lived far too long.”
“Mad?” The Empress’s humour returned, her sword lowering a little as she laughed. “What do you think the world is if not just an endless parade of madness? To make war is madness. To seek power is madness.” She laughed louder, throwing her arms wide. “And madness is glorious!”
Reva assumed the ape was simply attempting to complete the role it had been trained for, trailing a red stain across the arena as it dragged itself towards the Empress with its steel claws, taking her for Livella as she was the only one armed. With a rasping roar it reared up and lunged, claws lashing out as the Empress turned, taking the three steel barbs full in the chest.
The ape gave a final bellow, either of triumph or rage, and sagged onto the arena floor, sand flying high as it breathed its last. Reva moved closer as the Empress struggled, still somehow alive, blood flowing in torrents from her mouth as she laboured to heave herself off the ape’s claw, finally succeeding with a shriek of agony. She lay panting, breath coming in hard, convulsive tics as she stared up at Reva with the same wide, unreasoning eyes, smiling with a genuine affection that made Reva’s hand itch for a sword.
She became aware of the sound of battle once more, looking up to see that the conflict had spread across the tiers, the Volarian citizenry huddled together as the fighting raged around them. It appeared the Cumbraelins had been reinforced by Realm Guard, Lord Nortah’s free fighters judging by the number of women in their ranks. Also she glimpsed the trailing blond hair of the Shield on the lower terraces, fighting alongside several dozen freed Garisai. She sent a prayer to the Father to ensure Allern was amongst them. The knots of red and black were shrinking under the combined assault, though, as ever the Arisai showed no dismay at their own imminent passing, fighting to the last and laughing as they died.
Reva started as the Empress issued a loud, hacking snarl, arms flailing as she sought to rise, gaze fixed on something at the north end of the arena, a single word discernible among her blood-choked babble. “Bitch!”
Queen Lyrna Al Nieren strode across the sand, accompanied by her hulking Lord Protector and a tall, aged brother of the Sixth Order Reva didn’t recognise. A dozen or so Realm Guard fanned out on either side as she came towards Reva, waving away her bow and drawing her into a warm embrace. “My lady. Please accept my sincere apologies for not reaching you sooner.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They were obliged to force their way through a horde of fleeing Volarians, all too panicked and livid with terror to even recognise a group of foreign invaders. Many pelted through the redflower on either side of the road, shorn of any baggage as they fled, recent horrors etched into bleached features. In contrast the families moved in dense, wary knots, clutching meagre bundles with their children held close, small faces bunched in tears or frozen in fear.
Astorek leaned down to pull a man from the throng, a balding grey-clad of middling years with a little boy clinging to his side. He answered the shaman’s questions in clipped tones, habitual servility overcoming his dread.
“The Empress has set her Arisai on the city,” Astorek reported, releasing the grey-clad, who stumbled on without pause. “They’re killing everyone. He seemed to think it was punishment for not attending the arena, even though the place could never hold all of them.”
Vaelin turned to the Ally, regarding the passing refugees with only vague interest. “Is this your doing?” he demanded.
The Ally shrugged and shook his head. “She was mad even before I took her. And these people have always stirred her hatred.”
They moved on, breaking free of the fleeing mob after another mile and proceeding into the city. The eastern district seemed to be the merchants’ quarter, rich in warehouses and canals, their dark waters thick with floating corpses. Here and there dazed people wandered into their path, wounded or shocked into passivity. Horrors greeted them at every turn, women wept over murdered children and mystified infants prodded fallen parents. Vaelin closed his heart against it all and kicked Scar to a faster trot, his gaze fixed on the arciform mass of the arena rising from the centre of the city. He shot continual inquisitive looks at Kiral, who could only confirm the urgent note of her song.