Fifteen Years Ago
Lumendas, 1st Day of Radiance
A Phoenix shall blaze from the darkness.
A beacon to the shackled;
a pyre to the keepers of their chains.
from the sermons of Konor Belenzo
Wind howled along the marcher road. Icy rain swirled behind.
Katya hung low over her horse’s neck. Galloping strides jolted weary bones and set the fire in her side blazing anew. Sodden reins sawed at her palms. She blotted out the pain. Closed her ears to the harsh raven-song and ominous thunder. There was only the road, the dark silhouette of Eskavord’s rampart, and the anger. Anger at the Council, for forcing her hand. At herself for thinking there’d ever been a chance.
Lightning split grey skies. Katya glanced behind. Josiri was a dark shape, his steed straining to keep pace with hers. That eased the burden. She’d lost so much when the phoenix banner had fallen. But she’d not lose her son.
Nor her daughter.
Eskavord’s gate guard scattered without challenge. Had they recognised her, or simply fled the naked steel in her hand? Katya didn’t care. The way was open.
In the shadow of jettied houses, sodden men and women loaded sparse possessions onto cart and dray. Children wailed in confusion. Dogs fought for scraps in the gutter. Of course word had reached Eskavord. Grim tidings ever outpaced the good.
You did this.
Katya stifled her conscience and spurred on through the tangled streets of Highgate.
Her horse forced a path through the crowds. The threat of her sword held the desperate at bay. Yesterday, she’d have felt safe within Eskavord’s walls. Today she was a commodity to be traded for survival, if any had the wit to realise the prize within their grasp.
Thankfully, such wits were absent in Eskavord. That, or else no one recognised Katya as the dowager duchess Trelan. The Phoenix of prophecy.
No, not that. Katya was free of that delusion. It had cost too many lives, but she was free of it. She was not the Phoenix whose fires would cleanse the Southshires. She’d believed – Lumestra, how she’d believed – but belief alone did not change the world. Only deeds did that, and hers had fallen short.
The cottage came into view. Firestone lanterns shone upon its gable. Elda had kept the faith. Even at the end of the world, friends remained true.
Katya slid from the saddle and landed heavily on cobbles. Chainmail’s broken links gouged her bloodied flesh.
“Mother?”
Josiri brought his steed to a halt in a spray of water. His hood was back, his blond hair plastered to his scalp.
She shook her head, hand warding away scrutiny. “It’s nothing. Stay here. I’ll not be long.”
He nodded. Concern remained, but he knew better than to question. He’d grown into a dependable young man. Obedient. Loyal. Katya wished his father could have seen him thus. The two were so much alike. Josiri would make a fine duke, if he lived to see his seventeenth year.
She sheathed her sword and marched for the front door. Timbers shuddered under her gauntleted fist. “Elda? Elda! It’s me.”
A key turned. The door opened. Elda Savka stood on the threshold, her face sagging with relief. “My lady. When the rider came from Zanya, I feared the worst.”
“The army is gone.”
Elda paled. “Lumestra preserve us.”
“The Council emptied the chapterhouses against us.”
“I thought the masters of the orders had sworn to take no side.”
“A knight’s promise is not what it was, and the Council nothing if not persuasive.” Katya closed her eyes, lost in the shuddering ground and brash clarions of recent memory. And the screams, most of all. “One charge, and we were lost.”
“What of Josiri? Taymor?”
“Josiri is with me. My brother is taken. He may already be dead.” Either way, he was beyond help. “Is Calenne here?”
“Yes, and ready to travel. I knew you’d come.”
“I have no choice. The Council . . .”
She fell silent as a girl appeared at the head of the staircase, her sapphire eyes alive with suspicion. Barely six years old, and she had the wit to know something was amiss. “Elda, what’s happening?”
“Your mother is here, Calenne,” said Elda. “You must go with her.”
“Are you coming?”
The first sorrow touched Elda’s brow. “No.”
Calenne descended the stairs, expression still heavy with distrust. Katya stooped to embrace her daughter. She hoped Calenne’s thin body stiffened at the cold and wet, and not revulsion for a woman she barely knew. From the first, Katya had thought it necessary to send Calenne away, to live shielded from the Council’s sight. So many years lost. All for nothing.
Katya released Calenne from her embrace and turned wearily to Elda. “Thank you. For everything.”
The other woman forced a wintery smile. “Take care of her.”
Katya caught a glint of something darker beneath the smile. It lingered in Elda’s eyes. A hardness. Another friendship soured by folly? Perhaps. It no longer mattered. “Until my last breath. Calenne?”
The girl flung her arms around Elda. She said nothing, but the tears on her cheeks told a tale all their own.
Elda pushed her gently away. “You must go, dear heart.”
A clarion sounded, its brash notes cleaving through the clamour of the storm. An icy hand closed around Katya’s heart. She’d run out of time.
Elda met her gaze. Urgency replaced sorrow. “Go! While you still can!”
Katya stooped and gathered Calenne. The girl’s chest shook with thin sobs, but she offered no resistance. With a last glance at Elda, Katya set out into the rain once more. The clarion sounded again as she reached Josiri. His eyes were more watchful than ever, his sword ready in his hands.
“They’re here,” he said.
Katya heaved Calenne up to sit in front of her brother. She looked like a doll beside him, every day of the decade that separated them on full display.
“Look after your sister. If we’re separated, ride hard for the border.”
His brow furrowed. “To the Hadari? Mother . . .”
“The Hadari will treat you better than the Council.” He still had so much to learn, and she no more time in which to teach him. “When enemies are your only recourse, choose the one with the least to gain. Promise me.”
She received a reluctant nod in reply.
Satisfied, Katya clambered into her saddle and spurred west along the broad cobbles of Highgate. They’d expect her to take refuge in Branghall Manor, or at least strip it of anything valuable ahead of the inevitable looting. But the western gateway might still be clear.
The first cry rang out as they rejoined the road. “She’s here!”
A blue-garbed wayfarer cantered through the crowd, rain scattering from leather pauldrons. Behind, another set a buccina to his lips. A brash rising triad hammered out through the rain and found answer in the streets beyond. The pursuit’s vanguard had reached Eskavord. Lightly armoured riders to harry and delay while heavy knights closed the distance. Katya drew her sword and wheeled her horse about. “Make for the west gate!”
Josiri hesitated, then lashed his horse to motion. “Yah!”
Katya caught one last glimpse of Calenne’s pale, dispassionate face. Then they were gone, and the horseman upon her.