‘About time,’ said Janto, and the relish in his voice was palpable. Regulus knew he, more than any of them, savoured the thought of battle. He yearned for the butchery, and he too had a life debt to repay. Whether he would stay loyal to Regulus after that remained to be seen.
They stood and watched the sky rain fire for some time. The sounds of panic from the south rising as Coldlanders ran in all directions, some to escape the flames, some to help quell them. All the while doom poured down on the south of the city.
Glancing down at the bridge, Regulus could see the sudden fiery assault had hurried the exodus from the derelict city over the river, and the last of its inhabitants were making their way inside.
He and Janto watched in silence. Regulus could sense the warrior’s loathing of their cowardice, but was their flight not just the same as his had been so many days before? When he had fled the hunters of the Kel’tana and come north, almost leading them all to their deaths? At least this way they would live to fight another day rather than be needlessly slaughtered by the horde that at any minute might descend on the city.
Once the last of the crowd had milled its way over the bridge they could hear the turning of a gear and the clacking of chains as the great portcullis was lowered. The tower they stood upon rumbled as the gate was shut but Regulus couldn’t bring himself to feel secure. He knew they were not safe in here, and part of him felt satisfied at that. For Regulus Gor this was the beginning of his ascension. Or at least it would be so long as their enemy chose to attack the bridge.
Regulus could only live in hope.
FIVE
Janessa’s city burned and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had vowed to be strong, to lead her people against the scourge descending upon it, but as she watched the fire rain down from the Midral Sea all she felt was powerless. But then even a queen could do nothing against this. She was no god — just a girl thrust onto the throne and made to bear all the responsibility that came with it.
Amon Tugha had not yet begun his attack and already her people were dying. She took little solace in the fact the bombardment from the sea had abated somewhat since noon. Now, as the sun began to go down, the deluge from the fire ships was only intermittent, but the damage had already been done.
She watched from the palace as a ball of flame lit up the evening sky, soaring high over the burning city to land amongst the blackened ruins to the south, the sound of it echoing through the dead streets. The only solace Janessa could take was that she did not have to witness it alone. They were all there with her; her war council, watching and waiting in dumb silence as Chancellor Durket relayed the cost of the damage, the estimate of casualty numbers, the buildings destroyed despite monumental efforts to fight the flames. Janessa could only listen, her heart sinking yet further with every grim account of the destruction.
When Durket had finished, Seneschal Rogan stepped forward. His face was suddenly lit from the south by another burning missile and Janessa thought he resembled a snake now more than ever. He had done nothing she could condemn him for, though, and if she had learned anything it was that a man should only be censured for his actions, not his appearance.
‘Majesty, we are so far at a loss as to what can be done about the fire ships. Dockside has all but been destroyed as has the Warehouse District. The Temple of Autumn still stands by some miracle. I can only assume the Daughters of Arlor have been hard at prayer.’
Janessa glanced towards the south-east at the two great statues of Arlor and Vorena, she looking out to sea and he towards the open fields in the north. Steelhaven needed them both more than ever, but they had been dead for centuries. No venerated heroes were going to come to Janessa’s aid now. She had to save the city herself.
‘My lords, suggestions?’ Janessa said, turning to her assembled council.
General Hawke stared down at his feet. Marshal Farren likewise glanced off as though he hadn’t heard the question, his ruined left eye twitching all the while. That was fine, she had expected little from them, but when Lord Marshal Tannick and Duke Bannon glanced at one another uncertainly she knew there was little hope.
‘Every ship that remained in port has been destroyed, Majesty,’ said Bannon. ‘The fire ships are anchored too far from the dock, beyond reach unless someone swims out there. I have my doubts about how effective that would be.’
‘Not at all, I would guess,’ Janessa replied. ‘We will need to find another way. Seneschal, you will speak to the Crucible of Magisters. See who they can spare and what can be done to destroy those ships.’
Rogan bowed, obediently.
‘There is one other point of business, Majesty,’ said Durket. His voice quavered as though he feared to speak. Janessa found it strange, the man had never been shy about voicing his opinions for as long as she’d known him, but after the day Azai Dravos had tried to control her mind and murder her bodyguard, the Chancellor had been far from himself.
‘And?’ she said when he did not continue.
‘The Rafts, Majesty. They will be a problem.’ He paused again, cringing as the sound of an explosion echoed from the south.
‘Do I need to guess its nature, Chancellor?’ Janessa asked, fast losing patience.
‘Er … no, Majesty. The Rafts was constructed years ago, a slum we have unfortunately allowed to grow across the mouth of the River Storway. Essentially it’s a bridge across the river into the city. If the Khurtas decide to attack there they could charge right across and into the Warehouse District … or at least what’s left of it.’
‘Very well,’ Janessa replied, glancing at the faces of her war council, assessing who might be best placed to deal with the problem. ‘Chancellor, you will see that the slums are evacuated as best as possible. Marshal Farren, you will position trebuchets on the battlements and at the edge of the river and see to it the Rafts is destroyed by nightfall.’
‘Majesty, what if we can’t evacuate in time?’ asked Durket. ‘And many might refuse to leave their homes. Nightfall might not be-’
‘The Rafts will be destroyed by nightfall,’ Janessa said, feeling her anger rising. ‘Make it clear that anyone remaining in their homes will die.’
Durket bowed low. ‘Yes, Majesty,’ he replied before making himself scarce.
‘The rest of the city’s defences are as strong as ever, Majesty,’ said Rogan. ‘Only there is one thing that has been planned in the city’s defence that we are not all in agreement over.’ He glanced at Lord Marshal Tannick, who for his part didn’t even bother to acknowledge the head of the Inquisition.
‘And what is the nature of this disagreement?’ Janessa said, aiming her question at the Lord Marshal.
‘I intend to make a gesture,’ replied Tannick. ‘I don’t mean to sit behind our walls and wait for the Khurtas to come screaming at us from the north without bloodying their noses first.’
‘You intend to take the fight to them?’ From what little Janessa knew of warfare, this sounded like suicide, even to her.
‘I do. My cavalry will charge them on the field, cut them down where they stand. The armies of the Free States have not scored one victory over this horde yet. Showing the defenders on the walls that these bastards bleed and die like any other man will only serve us well.’
‘It’s bloody madness,’ said Marshal Farren. General Hawke nodded his agreement. ‘And a waste of men, if you ask me. If you want to commit suicide, Ryder, feel free, but the men of the Wyvern Guard would be better placed on the wall.’
‘It’s fortunate no one’s asking you then, isn’t it?’ Tannick replied.
Farren rounded on him. ‘It’s not just me, you mad bastard.’ He pointed at Duke Bannon, and Janessa saw the doubt in the old man’s eyes. ‘Ask him. Go on, see if he thinks it’s a good idea.’